


Doctored Pitch

by Ceia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cricket, Cricketrat, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, More characters and relationships to follow, Okay no that's a lie it will definitely change, Overwatch Summer Games, Past Relationship(s), Rating May Change, Romance, Slice of Life, Social Media, Texting, Wingwoman Lena
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/pseuds/Ceia
Summary: Angela is an ordinary GP at a suburban medical practice. Junkrat is a famous cricketer—and also her celebrity crush. He seems to take a shine to her when she meets him at a local book signing event.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since it came out I’ve been obsessed with Junkrat’s cricket skin. Because of that skin and numerous asks on tumblr, I thought, what if Junkrat was actually a famous cricket player? In a universe where there was no Overwatch, nor any omnic crisis? What would he be like? Holy shit, what would all the OTHERS be like? Who would be celebrities and who would be regular people?? More importantly, how could I bring a celebrity Cricketrat and regular Mercy together?!? 
> 
> I started writing this as pure self-indulgence to answer that, and then it spiralled out of control, so! More chapters to follow!

* * *

 

[ _ **Doctored pitch** _ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_cricket_terms) _\- a cricket pitch which has been intentionally prepared in an unusual manner to gain a competitive advantage for the home team, such as by creating a surface that favours the home team's strike bowler, or that exacerbates weaknesses in the visiting team's batting._

 

* * *

 

Angela’s final appointment of the day is with Mr. Ward. It runs over by half an hour because he starts crying on his way out of her office. When she ushers him back in he explains that he’s been experiencing suicidal thoughts following his recent divorce, so she prescribes a course of antidepressants and refers him to a local therapist.

The practice is located on the outskirts of the city. There’s a big commuter population here—businessmen with high paid, high stress jobs. Many of the middle aged city workers who come through Angela’s office have a tendency to let their problems build up all week, so Mr. Ward’s outpouring is the sort of delay she’s used to on a Friday afternoon, and she’s still able to complete her paperwork shortly after six thirty. She also isn’t the last one leaving today—Moira’s office door is ajar when she’s heading out—meaning she doesn’t have to lock up. Angela manages to get home and change with enough time to make it to the pub just before eight.

As ever on a Friday evening, she’s tired. It hasn’t been an especially busy week, which should be a refreshing change, but the busy weeks go quicker and don’t leave her feeling so lethargic. The big smile Angela is used to putting on during the day comes easily when she joins Lena and Olivia at the bar, though, some of the tension in her shoulders draining now that she’s braced against it with a glass of red wine.

“Hard day?” Lena asks, patting her back. Angela sighs.

“The same as always. Can we go and sit down?”

Olivia grabs her beer and the three of them find a booth. The pub is noisy as there’s a football match on tonight. Lena keeps craning her neck to look over at one of the TVs, though Arsenal aren’t even playing so she’s only peripherally keeping track of the score.

“You know, if you’re that unhappy there, there’s still a job going at my place,” Olivia says.

“Yes, and I’m not qualified for it,” Angela says.

“You don’t have to be. First line support is, like, the easiest way in. Plus it’s quiet at the moment.”

“It’s _always_ quiet for you,” Lena says, pouting. “The rest of us have things to do at work!”

“Hey, the same goes for you too,” Olivia says, bumping Lena’s shoulder. “Bet you’d love having all that free time working with me.”

Olivia provides third line technical support at a big IT consultancy. Essentially, this means she’s paid a lot of money to be on standby for when things go wrong, which, apparently, they very rarely do. Most of her working days are spent browsing Facebook and playing games on her phone.

“No thanks!” Lena says, nose wrinkling. “I still don’t know how you stand it. I’d be bored out of my mind stuck in an office with nothing to do all day!”

Lena, on the other hand, is a drama teacher at one of the local secondary schools, where she’s paid comparatively little to work long hours during the week and plan lessons over the weekend.

“I’m telling you ladies, it’s never too late to change your career,” Olivia says, silkily.

“It’s fine, really,” Angela says. “I appreciate the concern but it’s just business as usual for me.”

Angela has been a GP at the Amari practice for just over a year. While she’s on a better wage than both Lena and Olivia, she isn’t nearly as fulfilled as she thought she would be having finally gotten through medical school and her foundation years. The glorified life of a doctor has turned out to be a lot of paperwork, a lot of prescriptions, and a lot of middle aged men breaking down in her office. Angela knows she has no right to complain with her salary being what it is, but it’s hard to feel satisfied when she doesn’t have the energy to do anything with her substantial paychecks and nobody to spend her downtime with.

She’d like to think she’s making a difference to people’s lives, even though the only power she has is listening to whatever her patients are willing to tell her and prescribing medication where she can. Not quite the impactful work Angela imagined when her parents set her on this path twenty years ago, but she can’t put the blame on them when they’ve also been dead for the last fifteen.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” Olivia asks, when they’re on their second round of drinks.

“Netflix,” Angela says, making her laugh. “No, really. I have five unfinished shows on the go and three of them are getting new seasons soon, so I’m going to be behind again.”

“Yeah, it’s that time of year,” Lena sighs. “I thought I’d never miss being a student but it’s impossible to binge these days.”

“You guys just need to manage your time more effectively,” Olivia says, smirking. They both give her a playful shove. “Kidding! I’m _kidding_ , jeez.”

“Wait, Ange—aren’t you going to the signing?” Lena asks, frowning at her from across the table. The football is on halftime now so she isn’t watching the TV anymore.

“The signing?”

“Have you been off Twitter this week or something? Your future husband is doing a book signing in town tomorrow!”

“Oh, yes, I saw that. I wasn’t planning on going to be honest,” Angela says. Lena’s mouth falls open.

“What?! You realise this is your once in a lifetime opportunity to MEET him, right?”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Olivia asks, blinking between the two of them. Angela takes a breath to reply, but Lena answers for her.

“Junkrat’s been doing book signings all over the country this week and he’s in town tomorrow!”

“Oh shit!” Olivia grabs Angela’s shoulder. “Dude, haven’t you been following that guy for years?”

“I—yes, but it’s just a book signing.”

“Just a book signing!” they cry out, in unison. Angela groans, shrinking against the back of the booth.

“Come on, you two, I don’t want to spend hours queuing up with a bunch of screaming teenagers and old men just to get a signature.”

Actually, Angela would love to go and meet him. She’s been following Junkrat on Twitter ever since he had five thousand followers, back when he was just starting to make a name for himself. Now that he’s progressed into playing test cricket for the national Australian team he’s sitting on almost two million. Many of his followers are young women—not even diehard cricket fans, though Angela can’t exactly claim to be one of those, herself. He’s just another celebrity on her timeline, anyway.

Lena and Olivia share a look. Angela scowls at them.

“What?”

“Aren’t you always telling us he’s like, your cricket god?” Olivia asks.

“It’s—I’m only kidding when I say things like that,” Angela says, laughing. Her silly crush on Junkrat might be the reason why she jokes about finding an Australian man whenever they’re on a night out, but she’d like to think that’s a common desire for many women in their late twenties and early thirties. It just so happens that he’s a cricketer as opposed to the usual rugby players most of them lust after.

“Your grandad would be going mental if he thought you were turning down an opportunity to meet a cricket legend,” Lena says, like she’s disappointed on his behalf.

“He didn’t even support the Australian team!” Angela says, but Lena vehemently shakes her head. She’s a little tipsy, cheeks pink from the two glasses of rosé she’s had.

“Doesn’t matter! I’m sure he would’ve been thrilled for you to go and meet a famous cricketer regardless of the team!”

Lena admittedly has a very good point. Years ago, in an attempt to bond with her last blood relative, Angela spent every Sunday going to visit her grandfather so they could watch the cricket together. It wasn’t a particularly engaging sport to watch, so she tried to find an interest in the players themselves, and stumbled upon Junkrat after reading about him in one of her grandfather’s cricket magazines. At the time he was only known as Jamie Fawkes, but even then he was noted as showing a promising level of skill and commitment to the sport—and having a very active online presence, too.

Angela swipes her phone off the table and goes to Twitter, scrolling through her feed until she finds a tweet from him. She loads up his profile.  
  
  
  
**_JUNKRAT_**  
_@jamisonfawkes_  
_Australian cricketer | Barbeque connoisseur_  
_If at first you don’t succeed, bowl it up again!!  
  
  
  
_ His last tweet was a selfie in front of the store where Angela does her weekly grocery shopping. He’s wearing sunglasses and a Meteor branded hoodie, grinning and tanned and terribly handsome, as ever. Judging by all ten thousand likes it has, a lot of his other followers must think so too.  
  
  
  
**_JUNKRAT_** _@jamisonfawkes 2h  
TESCO. I WILL BE IN YOU. TOMORROW!!!! Come get ya books signeddddd!! x  
  
  
  
_ “Not bad,” Olivia says. She seems to be looking at his profile too, on her own phone. “He isn’t my type, but I can see the appeal.”

“If I wasn’t gay, yeah,” Lena says, nodding along with her. “Would be better if he was a red head, though. You reckon he dyes his hair?”

“I think he’s a natural blond,” Angela says. When they both grin at her she looks down into her empty wine glass, tilting it to swirl the dregs at the bottom. “Not that I would know for sure.”

“Y’know, if it was Emily hosting a signing, I’d be there in two seconds flat,” Lena says.

“She’s on a whole other level though,” Olivia says. “Junkrat’s like. Achievable.”

“There is nothing about him that’s ‘achievable’,” Angela laughs. Olivia goes back to her phone, arching an eyebrow at the screen.

“Emily’s got fifty-five million followers. He’s only on two. _That_ is achievable, if you ask me.”

“Ange, what I’m saying is, I go to ALL of Emily’s shows.” Lena points at her. “Any opportunity I can, I’m there!”

“You’re also completely obsessed with her,” Angela says. “And, you know, a genuine fan of her music.”

Lena has been a self-proclaimed superfan of Emily for the last year and half. As part of her rather obsessive personality, she has taken it upon herself to attend all the concerts and gigs she can afford, and runs a moderately successful fanblog on Tumblr. Angela isn’t a huge fan of any celebrities, really, but if Junkrat is her celebrity crush, Emily is Lena’s celebrity wife.

“But you’re a genuine fan of Junkrat!” Lena says.

“I just think he’s cute, that’s all,” Angela says. “It’s not like I watch his games.” Not all of them. She’d like to, though.

“Haven’t you got his book?” Lena’s folding her arms now, has that look in her eyes like she’s absolutely set on this.

“Y… Yes, I do,” Angela admits. She bought it last week from the store where he’s doing the signing, as they’re currently running a promotion on it.

“Right. Then we’re going.”

“Lena, no. I can’t—don’t waste your Saturday just for my sake.”

“It won’t be a waste, I want to be there with you. Call it moral support!” Lena says, negotiably. She nudges Olivia. “You up for coming as well?”

“I’d love to, but I promised Jesse I’d help out with his redecorating this weekend. He’s still got a bunch of rooms to paint.”

“Lena, please, you don’t—I’ll go, you don’t have to come with me,” Angela says.

“Nope! I’ll come and pick you up and we’ll drive over there in the morning together, see if we can get in the queue early. Alright?”

Angela sighs.

“Alright,” she says, smiling. “Maybe we could have some lunch afterwards, if it doesn’t take too long.”

“Let me know how it goes, yeah?” Olivia says. “Also, make sure you write your number in your book for him or something.”

Angela cringes. “Oh, honestly,” she says, but they just laugh.

Back home after leaving the pub, she’s looking forward to having a day out with Lena more than the signing itself. In truth, Angela genuinely wouldn’t have gone if it meant queuing by herself, knowing she’s likely to stand out like a sore thumb among all of Junkrat’s teenage fangirls and his actual, legitimate cricket fans.

But Lena’s right. It would be silly to pass up an opportunity like this. She has his book, after all. Even if she didn’t, she should go anyway if only for her grandfather’s sake. He would’ve liked to see her so invested, regardless of her investment being in a player rather than the sport itself.

Angela is up early the next day. She’s more excited than she thought she would be and spends far too long applying her makeup and choosing what to wear, as though she’s going on some kind of date when it’s literally just a trip to Tesco. It’s odd for Junkrat’s PR team to have chosen a supermarket rather than a bookstore for the signing, but she supposes it doesn’t matter when it’s allowing her an opportunity to meet him locally. She'll be able to get some grocery shopping done afterwards, at least.

The forecast for the weekend is good. Angela picks out a bardot top to go with her skinny jeans and ties her hair up into its usual ponytail. As she’s apparently making such an effort, she scoops her feathered earrings from the bottom of her makeup drawer, though it’s been so long since she bothered wearing any earrings that she has to re-pierce her ears with them to get them in.

Lena picks her up after she’s had breakfast. Following a short drive into town they arrive at Tesco. It isn’t even ten o’clock yet but the carpark is packed, and Angela is disappointed to see that there’s already a line of people waiting outside the store. She was sort of hoping there wouldn't be that many people here.

“Shit,” Lena says, locking her car. They head over to join the end of the queue. “Look at all these people here already!”

“He’s a big sports personality don’t forget,” Angela says, more to remind herself.

“No no, I know! I mean, haven’t Meteor just announced another collaboration with him?”

“They have indeed.” Angela doesn’t wear any sports clothing, but she’s tempted to buy one of the hoodies. They look very comfortable, and some sad part of her likes the idea of wearing his team’s colours. The Junkrat-branded smiley faces on them are cute, too.

There’s a group of three girls right in front of them in the queue. They’re chatting loudly. If Angela was to hazard a guess, they look like they could be young university students or even sixth formers, depressingly. She’s going to be 31 this year.

“Did you see his pic this morning?” says one of the girls. Angela glances past Lena’s shoulder and notices that the girl’s phone case is covered in smiley face stickers.

“He got here well early,” says another girl. “Like, I can’t believe he’s here at all. Why the fuck would he bother coming to a shithole like this?”

“Oh my god,” says the third girl. “He just posted another video!!”

Lena’s on her phone too, but the girls’ squealing is such a grating sound that she jolts and glares around at them before facing Angela.

“Wow,” Lena mouths, cringing. Angela sighs, wishing she could be happy for their excitement rather than embarrassed by it—by herself, really, for coming here after all.

It’s mostly thanks to Junkrat that cricket has enjoyed a new burst of popularity amongst younger people. Not only is he an excellent batsman, popular with avid cricket fans for his skills, but at 26 he’s relatively young for a cricketer and savvy with social media. He tweets daily, posts plenty of photos on his Instagram. Has a mini video series on YouTube where he barbeques a variety of different objects, as he apparently takes great enjoyment in setting things on fire. Some of his antics are quite juvenile for a professional sportsman, but Junkrat is probably the most interesting cricketer in the world—and also the most attractive, in Angela’s opinion. It’s no wonder he’s gained the adoration of so many younger fans.

The queue is slow moving. It’s disheartening to see that it stretches around the store once they’re inside. There’s quite a mix of people here, but the vast majority are, as she expected, either older men or young girls like the ones in front of them. Angela can see the corner that’s been sectioned off for his signing, but the promotional booth is positioned so that his table will only be in view when they reach the end of the queue.

“Whaddya think then? Another hour?” Lena asks, smiling. Angela is grateful that she isn’t making her feel bad now that they’re here and committed to waiting. They’ve already been queuing for thirty minutes.

“I imagine so,” Angela says.

“Wasn’t there a signing here not too long ago? For an Indian cricketer?”

“Was there?”

“Think so. Baffles me why they keep choosing Tesco for this. You’d think their PR team would at least go for something a bit posher. Waitrose or Marksies or, y’know, an actual bookstore like Waterstones!”

Angela laughs. “I’m glad I’m not the only one questioning that. I imagine it’s all to do with marketing.”

“Probably.” Lena folds her arms behind her head. “Wonder what he’ll be like in person?”

“Have you seen any of his videos?”

“Yeah, some. He’s funny and everything, but also a bit…”

“Cocky?” Angela supplies, when Lena hesitates.

“Well, yeah.”

“Wouldn’t you be, if you had all of this?” she says, gesturing to the girls ahead of them, the queue of people waiting to meet him.

“I suppose so, to be fair.”

Junkrat can be somewhat arrogant in the interviews Angela has seen, but it isn’t surprising after enjoying success like he has—coming from nothing, building himself an amazing career, and bringing an old-fashioned sport like cricket back into the spotlight in the process. Angela hopes he’ll be able to offer her a genuine smile despite the amount of people ahead of them, in any case.

“So like, have you guys got any receipts?” asks one of the girls in front. “He liked one of my comments on the gram last month!”

“Yeah, on Twitter he atted me onnn… wait a sec, I’ve got the date on my profile.”

“Jesus,” Lena mutters. Angela grins at her.

“And you wouldn’t do the same if Emily atted you?” she asks, quietly. Lena huffs.

“If she atted me I’d print it off and tape it above my bloody bed!”

Angela laughs at this, going to her own Twitter profile.  
  
  
  
**_Mercy_**  
_@mercyoncall_  
_Permanently undercaffeinated and enjoying the quiet while it lasts.  
  
  
  
_ It’s a locked account—has to be, due to the nature of her work—and she doesn’t have many followers on it, just friends. She has Instagram too, but it’s mostly wildlife photos, cups of coffee and the occasional selfie whenever she’s been pleased with her makeup prior to going out.

“I’ve got my Instagram written down so that he might look at it,” says a girl ahead. “Do you think it would be weird if I like… asked to kiss his cheek?”

“I wouldn’t,” says another, to Angela’s unreasonable relief. “He might think it’s a bit stalkerish. Just ask him for a hug and a selfie, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“Oh my god, I think I’m gonna die if he hugs me. His arms are like. So amazing.”

“What’re you gonna say to him when we’re up there?” Lena asks, distracting Angela from their conversation. She’s skipping from foot to foot now as they’ve been in the queue for almost an hour. It won’t be long before they’re in the final line.

“I’m not sure,” Angela says. “I’ll probably just tell him how nice it’s been to see his progression.”

“Awww, that’s sweet. Got your book all ready for him?”

Angela pulls it out of her handbag. Lena takes it from her and thumbs through the pages. It’s a memoir titled _Bowls, Balls and BBQ!!,_  and covers his rise to fame over the last few years.

“Where you gonna get him to sign?”

“The front page, I think.”

Lena pulls a blue biro out of her purse.

“Want me to write your number down?” she asks, grinning. Angela gently swats her arm.

“Don’t you dare,” she says, grinning back.

Her phone vibrates with an email from Ms Amari. She’s congratulating Moira on her publication in the medical journal and has cc’d the rest of the practice. Angela swallows her jealousy as she reads it, knowing how hard Moira worked on that particular article, and tries to construct a politely congratulatory response. When she finally sends it off, she's surprised to see that they’ve turned the corner of the queue and there are now only about ten people away from the signing desk—from Junkrat himself.

“Oh,” Angela says. Suddenly they’re here, and he’s—Junkrat’s right there, she can see him clearly. He’s sitting down at the signing table, leaning over one of his books, and when he grins up at the elderly gentleman waiting Angela is alarmed to feel her stomach flip.

Junkrat is even more handsome in real life than in any of his selfies or videos. When he stands up to shake the man’s hand her stomach flips again. She already knew he was tall, but he looks much taller in person than he ever did on TV. He’s wearing shorts, too, so his prosthetic leg is on full display—yet another facet to his charm and a statement of how well he’s done in spite of being disabled.

“You alright?” Lena asks, sounding amused. Angela only tears her eyes away from Junkrat when Lena presses the book against her arm. She takes it back and holds it close to her chest, some useless attempt to protect herself from how terribly attractive he is.

“Yes,” Angela says, unsure if this is a lie. “I’m just. Nervous, actually, now that we’re here.”

“Don’t be!” Lena says, rubbing her arm. “You look beautiful, he’ll love you!”

“I’m not worried about that,” Angela scoffs, unsure if this is also a lie.

“Look, just—relax, okay? I’ll be right behind you!”

The girls in front of them are buzzing, unashamedly vocal about their excitement, but even they aren’t enough to distract Angela from her nervousness. She’s never met anyone famous in her entire life, and now not only is she meeting a celebrity, she’s meeting her celebrity crush. All six foot something of him, wearing a slimfit hoodie that shows off his broad shoulders, hair all blond and wild and a razor cut grin on his gorgeous, tanned face.

Oh god. She thought she was prepared for this. Angela has to wipe her forehead as they approach him. Junkrat seems cheerful, chatting briefly with his fans before signing their books and standing up for pictures. There are only young women in the queue ahead of them, and she watches all of them, without exception, him for a selfie. Angela had secretly wanted to ask for one too, and she wants to more than ever now that she’s seeing Junkrat put his arm around their shoulders. But how can she? They’re all so young that it isn’t embarrassing for them to ask for his photo and be excited like that, shamelessly squealing at him and gushing about how much they love him. She should know better than to fangirl at her age. Why did she ever think coming here was a good idea?

The group of girls are up there with him now, flailing. Junkrat’s laughter turns Angela’s legs to jelly. She faces Lena.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she says. Lena squeezes her arms.

“Don’t be daft,” she says, hissing it. “Come on, you’ll be fine!”

“I don’t want to make a fool out of myself, Lena!”

“You won’t! I won’t let you!”

"And—and my makeup's okay?"

"It's perfect, Ange, stop fretting!"

The girls have their photo taken. Thankfully none of them ask for a kiss. Junkrat pokes his tongue out for their picture, which has them screaming, delighted. Angela’s heart is thumping from how long they’re taking—like they’re dragging out her suffering on purpose—and then they’re leaving. Junkrat is sitting back down at the signing table, taking a swig of water from a drinks bottle, and it’s—it’s her turn. She’s next.

“Go on,” Lena says, gently nudging the small of her back.

Angela scuttles forwards, staring down at the floor to make sure she doesn’t trip. Then she’s right in front of him, and when she lifts her eyes, suddenly they’re meeting his.

“Oh,” Junkrat says, leaning back in his seat.

He seems surprised, as though Angela is an old friend he hasn’t seen in a while. In the modelling shots he’s done for Meteor, Junkrat’s eyes have always looked amber, bright and piercing and probably photoshopped. Now that she’s standing here, seeing him in real life, Angela notices that actually his eyes are brown, soft and warm as they look up into hers. Junkrat’s face is horrendously handsome, made up of sharp angles and a strong jawline, but his bushy eyebrows and the mole on his nose are absolutely adorable.

Junkrat clears his throat.

“Good—uh, g’day!” he says, in his unbelievably cute accent. Angela notices his canines when he grins at her and wonders if she might pass out.

“Hi,” she breathes, managing a shy smile back at him.

“What’s your name then?” Junkrat asks, leaning forward. Along with the one on his nose, he has lots of other moles and freckles scattered over his face.

“I’m—Angela,” she says, trying not to count them.

“Nice to meetcha, Angela!”

“You too. I, um. I just.”

She pauses, squeezing the book against her chest like it’s a shield for her self-consciousness. Junkrat looks at her expectantly, waiting to see what she has to say.

Assisted by the peripheral awareness of Lena coughing behind her, Angela finds her breath.

“I just—wanted to say that I’ve been following your Twitter for years now, before your big sponsorship, and it’s—it’s just wonderful to see how far you’ve come.”

“Really?” Junkrat says, his eyebrows lifting up. Angela tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Yes. I used to watch cricket with my grandfather, and I found an article all about you back when you were, um. Playing for your hometown team. You only had one video on your channel, too, the um—infinite shower prank you played on your teammate.”

“Woah, that was ages ago!” Junkrat says, laughing. “You seriously been followin’ me all these years?”

“I have,” Angela says, her smile coming easier from how sincerely pleased he seems by this.

“Blimey, colour me impressed! Can’t believe a classy lady like y’self would wanna follow a bloody idiot like me!”

A classy lady. Angela giggles before she can stop herself, automatically covering her mouth with her hand as she does. Junkrat’s eyebrows lift up again.

“I’m not sure I’d call myself that,” she says. “Nor would I call you a bloody idiot.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, resting his chin in his palm. He’s smirking at her. “Then what _would_ ya call me, I wonder?”

Angela can feel her pulse at the base of her throat. It takes a second to remember how to speak. In an incredible burst of stupidity, she smirks back.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says casually, before she can stop herself. “My, um. Future husband, perhaps?”

Junkrat splutters. Behind her, she thinks Lena might be laughing too, but Angela can’t hear properly over the deafening sound of her own mortification. So much for not making a fool of herself! What on god’s green earth possessed her to come out with that?!

“Well, you certainly don’t beat around the bush, do ya!” Junkrat laughs. He reaches out with both hands. “C’mon, give us y’book!”

Angela swallows, handing it over. Junkrat grabs his marker pen and opens it. She could probably burn to a crisp from the overwhelming embarrassment of even attempting to flirt back with him—the white-hot shock of being flirted with in the first place—but her humiliation skyrockets when she sees that something has already been written on the front page of her book.  
_  
_

_  
_ Oh no. Please no.

Junkrat blinks at it. His eyes flick up to hers. Angela chokes when she goes to explain herself, but he just laughs, looking back down as he scribbles out a message out for her. Lena must’ve—when she took it earlier. Why, _why_ would she—

“There you go!” Junkrat says, handing the book back. Angela doesn’t have a chance to read his message before he’s getting up and walking around the table to her. She shivers when he grins down at her, hands on his hips, all—freckles and confidence. Despite his intimidating handsomeness, the way he towers above her, Junkrat’s face is ever so slightly pink.

“Wanna take a pic with me?” he asks. Angela is almost scared to note that he sounds hopeful.

“You—with me?”

“Well yeah, seein’ as you’re my future wife n’all!”

Angela breathes out a laugh. Is she dreaming this?

“I—yes, if—if that’s alright!”

When she reaches to pull her phone out of her pocket Junkrat turns away from her.

“Can we get a photo?” he says, apparently addressing his photographer. Angela’s stomach knots when the photographer walks over to them.

“Stand a bit closer for me please,” he says, frowning from behind his camera.

Angela takes a blind step sideways, prickling as Junkrat’s arm comes around the small of her back. He tugs her against him, flush to his side, and she gasps at the feel of his hand on her waist, a firm grip to keep her held close. Whatever cologne he’s wearing smells amazing, his body warm and solid where she’s tucked in against it, and Angela suddenly realises that she wasn’t even remotely prepared for this after all.

She clings onto her book, frozen in place against Junkrat’s side and wondering why he would ever want to ask _her_ for a picture. Then the photographer gives them a thumbs up, and she smiles for their photo, trying to commit every second of this to memory even though it’s already over and he’s letting her go.

“Ohh, can we get one on her phone too please?” Lena asks, a knight in shining armour who appears from nowhere even though she’s been standing here the entire time.

“’Course y’can!” Junkrat says, putting his arm around Angela’s shoulders. Maybe she should be disappointed that he isn’t holding her waist anymore, but what matters is that his hand is on her again, drawing her back against his side. A half-cuddle, basically. Lena takes Angela’s book, followed by her phone.

“Give us a sec,” she says, fiddling with it. “Bloody iPhones, not used to them!”

Lena has never owned anything but iPhones ever since they were released. While waiting for her to take the picture, Angela finds the courage to loop her arm behind Junkrat’s back, fingers clutching the soft fabric of his hoodie. He squeezes her shoulders in response.

“Thank you so much for taking this picture with me,” she says, her smile nervous when she chances a look up at him.

“No need to thank me, s’my pleasure!” Junkrat says. His easy grin back at her is so intensely attractive Angela has to look away again. How is this even  _real_ right now?

“Ready!” Lena says.

They face her. Angela bristles when Junkrat leans down slightly. He lowers his voice, breath tickling the hair by her ear and sending a hot rush through her body when he says, “Think I really _would_ be a bloody idiot if I didn’t want my photo taken with such a gorgeous woman!”

Angela sucks in a sharp breath and tightens her arm around his back, convinced that she’ll faint if she doesn’t.

“Right! Three, two, one, smile!”

It’s wonderful for Lena to have drawn this out for as long as she has, but Junkrat lets go of Angela when she’s taken the picture. The disappointment when he pulls away is more crushing than it has any right to be, but at the same time she’s elated, high on adrenaline from having shared this much of his time and being held against him not once, but twice. Somehow it’s touching to see that Junkrat’s face is still slightly pink when he sits back down. His grin softens when he meets her eyes for the final time.

“I—thank you so much,” Angela says, wanting to cling onto these last few moments, commit every mole and freckle to memory before she never sees him again.

“Not at all, Angela! S’been an absolute pleasure to meetcha!”

Junkrat holds her gaze. His lips part and a slight frown creases his brow. Angela stills, because he looks like he’s going to—say something? Ask something? Her heart falls when he seems to change his mind, giving her a friendly goodbye wave instead.

“Have a nice day!” Junkrat says, before glancing past her shoulder to the person waiting behind her. Their meeting officially over, Angela is both gutted and relieved when Lena pulls her away from the table, away from the promotional booth, and away from him.

“Oh my god,” Lena says, holding her by the shoulders when they’re a safe distance away at the end of the fruit and vegetable aisle. “Can you believe that??”

“I—no, I don’t think I can,” Angela says. Her voice has gone squeaky. “Did—did he just—”

“Yes, he asked _you_ for a fucking picture!” Lena says, her voice also several pitches higher. “HE asked YOU!”

Angela starts fanning herself. 

“Oh my god!”

“He didn’t ask any of those other girls!”

“And he—my waist—”

“Right?! AND he flirted with you, asking what you’d call him!”

Angela covers her face with her clammy hands, the acute embarrassment of what she said in response hitting her like a truck.

“I can’t believe it!” she whimpers, shaking her head.

“You did so well! You even flirted back! That future husband thing was hilarious, Ange, well bloody done! What did he write in your book?!”

“Wait, wha—the book! You didn’t tell me you’d written my damned Twitter username on there!” Angela says, scowling at Lena but far too thrilled to be legitimately upset. Lena laughs gleefully.

“Sorry, my hand slipped! Anyway, let’s see what he wrote!”

Angela scrambles to open up the front page, Lena peering closely over her shoulder.

  
“Oh my _god_ ,” Angela says again, almost choking.

“Jesus,” Lena says, staring down at the page.

“He, um. He said I was gorgeous when you were taking our picture, too.”

“What?!”

Lena gapes at her. Angela nods, biting her lip around a huge smile.

“Holy shit, Ange! He REALLY liked you!”

“I’m sure he was just being polite,” she says, hoping desperately that he wasn’t.

“No no, no _way_ was he just being polite! You saw him with the other girls in line, he didn’t give them anywhere near as much attention as you! I was listening to what he was saying to them!”

“You were?”

“Yes! He definitely liked you, no doubt about it!”

“Oh, Lena!”

Angela laughs breathlessly when Lena grabs her into a fierce cuddle. She may never get to see him again, but it’s incredibly validating to know that Junkrat liked her. He must’ve done to indulge her with those photos, with his charming words. To flirt with her. Write her a message playing along with her embarrassing faux pas. She wasn’t even going to come along today, but when they leave the store Angela may as well be walking on clouds, every bit as bouncy as those young girls ahead of them in the queue.

Junkrat, her biggest celebrity crush, _liked_ her.

She’s still buzzing when they’re in the car, when they head out to get some lunch together. Lena is kind enough to share her excitement as they have a coffee, asking to look at the picture she took and go over everything Junkrat said. Some tiny part of Angela hopes he might’ve taken note of her Twitter username, though she knows that that’s definitely not going to happen—that it’s just the exhilaration of the morning spilling over into a completely ridiculous fantasy.

But she can’t stop thinking about the way Junkrat looked at her, that sweet blush on his handsome face. His hand on her waist and his arm strong and firm around her back for their photo together—one that _he_ asked to take.

Angela knows far better than to assume she was in any way special, but god, Junkrat certainly made her feel like she was.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you today,” she says, hugging Lena goodbye when they’re standing outside Angela’s front door.

“Hey, I’ll be your wingwoman anytime,” Lena says, firmly. “It was _so_ exciting!”

“It really was. I’m so happy I got to share it with you!”

“Aww, Ange, me too. It’s always lovely hanging out with you. Don’t forget to text Olivia though, I know she’ll be dying to hear about it!”

“Oh—yes, I will do. Thank you so much again!”

It’s early evening when Lena leaves. Angela is still burning through adrenaline and isn’t quite sure what to do with herself. After texting Olivia her photo with Junkrat, she busies herself putting away the clothing she’d pulled out of the closet this morning before flopping on the couch with her phone. She’ll put Netflix on soon, but right now all she wants to do is bask in her memories of the day and choose the best filter so she can upload their picture onto Instagram.

When will Junkrat post his photos? Maybe they’ll be online tomorrow, on his Facebook page or something. Usually he posts a select few onto his Twitter when he’s done a meet-and-greet like this. Could he have possibly chosen hers?

Angela goes to Twitter. Junkrat hasn’t tweeted much today, but he did twenty minutes ago. It’s a photo one of his team must’ve taken of him, face down on the table giving the camera a double thumbs up.  
  
  
  
**_JUNKRAT_** _@jamisonfawkes 17m_  
_PHEW. Aaaand that’s a wrap for today lol you lot wore me out!  
  
  
  
_ There are no other pictures yet. Angela scrolls through the rest of his recent tweets. Junkrat only follows a few hundred accounts, but he’s quite good at replying to people. She’s never tried atting him directly, preferring to simply like his tweets every now and then. Mostly the selfies, of course, though she’s also partial to the short videos he uploads that don’t end up on his YouTube.

Gosh. It still doesn’t seem real that she met him today. At least now she has the signature in her book and the picture on her phone as proof that she did, though—mementos of how wonderful he made her feel, and how much fun she had with Lena, too.

Angela’s stomach grumbles. She was too hyped to eat anything earlier and barely managed to finish her cappuccino. Figuring she could probably use something to eat now that the day is catching up with her, she has a look to see what she’s got in the fridge. There isn’t much as she forgot to do any food shopping at the supermarket today. Just as Angela crouches to see if there’s anything worth defrosting in the freezer, her phone vibrates in her jean pocket. She takes it out expecting to see a reply from Olivia.  
  
  
**_Twitter_ ** _now  
__**JUNKRAT** (@jamisonfawkes) has requested to follow you.  
  
  
  
_ What. No. That’s—it can’t be.  
  
Angela stares at the screen. She stares long enough for it to idle out, eyes glazing over, and then she taps it again, bringing it back.  
  
  
  
**_Twitter_ ** _1m ago  
__**JUNKRAT** (@jamisonfawkes) has requested to follow you._

 _  
  
  
_ She thought she might’ve been seeing things. That maybe it was some—bot or roleplaying account. But it isn’t a roleplaying account, and she isn’t seeing things at all.

It—it’s him. Junkrat.

Junkrat has looked up her tiny, insignificant account, and apparently wants to follow her.

Angela pushes the freezer drawer back in and stands up, phone gripped tightly in her left hand. Her right shakes when she swipes to unlock. Twitter opens up, asking her to accept or decline his request.

Like it’s even a question. Angela accepts instantly. Her follower count rises by one, so now it’s at 68. For absolute certainty that this isn't some hallucination, she loads Junkrat’s profile. There it is, a little text box next to his username that she never even dreamed of seeing.  
  
  
  
_**JUNKRAT**_  
_@jamisonfawkes [Follows you]  
  
  
  
_ She laughs to herself, hand cupped over her mouth. Did she really leave such a lasting impression on him that he thought to remember her handle? That—that silly message Lena wrote without her even knowing? It’s bewildering. Utterly and completely _baffling_.

Junkrat hasn’t tweeted anything else, hasn’t replied to anyone since she checked earlier. Angela isn’t sure what to take from this aside from the obvious elation of being followed back by her favourite goddamn celebrity, the fact that he _looked her up_ at all—and then a banner appears at the bottom of her screen.  
  
  
  
**_JUNKRAT_ ** _sent you a message  
  
  
  
_ “Fuck,” Angela says, going straight to her DMs.  
  
  
  
_Hey is this Angela???  
  
  
  
_ Suddenly there’s the urge to scream, but also to phone Lena and ask what the hell she’s supposed to do here. Following her is one thing, but messaging her?!

After allowing herself a moment of blind panic, Angela replies, even though she’s so jittery she has to correct what she types three times.

_  
  
  
Hello! Yes it’s me, Angela, from the signing today!!_

  
  
She sends this and panics even more, afraid that if she doesn’t at least try to convey how incredibly honoured she is he might take offence and unfollow her.

_  
Thank you so so much for following me!!_

  
  
Junkrat must have read receipts turned off. Angela doesn’t, so she taps into her settings to turn them off too. Under no circumstance must he have that sort of power over her, even though he’ll probably know that she’ll read anything he sends her immediately anyway.

She’s ready to spend the rest of the evening waiting for Junkrat’s reply, but the dots indicating that he’s typing appear in seconds. Angela’s stomach drops.  
  
  
  
_Haha didn’t give me a choice_  
_Can’t at you when you’re locked can I! ;)  
  
  
  
_ There’s. A winky face. Junkrat has sent her a winky face. Floored that he has not only acted upon Lena’s silly message, but topped it off with a _real and actual winky face_ , Angela rushes to reply to him.

_I’m so sorry, I know you won’t believe me but my friend wrote that, I had no idea she had!!_

  
  
She sends this fully aware of how fake it sounds, but without having Lena beside her to coach her through this Angela doesn’t know what else she’s supposed to say—how she’s supposed to react to all of this.

Once again she prepares herself for an agonising wait before he bestows her with a response, but Junkrat pays her the shocking courtesy of replying very quickly.  
  
  
  
_Oh I TOTALLY believe you :P_  
_Aaaaaaanyway_  
_I ACTUALLY wanted to ask if you’re alright!  
  
  
  
_ Is… is she alright? Has Junkrat seriously just messaged her to ask if she’s alright?!

What if it’s some sort of trick question? She was so worried about making an idiot out of herself, but even after the whole husband fiasco Angela is now fretting that perhaps she was too restrained, if he’s genuinely asking this. Surely she didn’t come across badly, did she? Like she was—bored, or like meeting him somehow _wasn’t_ the most exciting thing she’s done in years??

This is about as stressful as it is exhilarating. Angela crouches down to the freezer again and opens it up, needing some cool air on her forehead.

_  
  
Yes, I am great, thank you!_

  
  How robotic. She corrects herself.

 

 _Yes, I’m fantastic, thank you!!_  
_I was and am so happy to have met you, so I really hope I didn’t give you the impression I wasn’t?_

  
  
The wait for Junkrat’s reply is unbearable, but thankfully short-lived. Angela holds her breath.  
  
  
  
_No no lol you didn’t at all!!_  
_Just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt_  
_Y’know, after you FELL FROM HEAVEN today ;D  
  
  
  
_ “Fuck!” Angela says again, a cuss that practically bursts out of her.

Is this real? Is he honestly—is this _him_? She’s inclined to believe it is. Such a cheesy pickup line is exactly the sort of thing she can imagine Junkrat using. Angela simply cannot believe he’s using it on _her_ , some nobody he took a couple of photos with at a meet-and-greet in fucking—Tesco, of all places! If this was anyone else sliding into her DMs with such a corny message they’d earn themselves an instant block, but Junkrat could use the cheesiest, most overused pickup line in history on her and she’d probably be just as flattered and overwhelmed by it as she is now.

Has he really, seriously followed her on Twitter… to _flirt_ with her??

Angela supposes the best way of answering him would be to somehow play it cool and pretend it’s just some guy she met on a night out. But there’s also no way she _can_ pretend that he’s just some guy, some nobody like she is. How can she? He’s got two million followers, for god’s sake!

Shit, and now she’s keeping him waiting. Terrified that Junkrat could lose interest at any moment, Angela tries to kick her brain into gear and answers to the best of her ability.

_  
  
I have heard that line many times before, but I never thought I’d hear it from you!_

  
  
There’s no time to feel nervous about his response before it pops up on her screen.  
  
  
  
_Haha sorry I guessed you might get that a lot ;)_  
_Couldn’t help myself!! :P  
  
  
  
_ And now he’s apologising. Junkrat is—saying sorry. To her.

Angela is in dire need of Lena’s assistance here, but she also wants to reply quickly, keep this momentum going for as long as possible.

  
_Oh, there’s no need to be sorry!_  
_I can make a special exception for you. ;)_

  
  
What’s she doing. Why is—oh, god, she already hit send! What’s she _doing_ , thinking she can send him a winky face back like it’s nothing!  
  
  
  
  
_Phew, lucky me!! ;)_  
_Thought I’d dropped the ball for a minute there!_

What a relief that he was receptive to it. Angela's fingertip flies over the keypad, brain working so fast she barely has time to process what she’s typing before she’s hitting send.

 

_You’re much better at batting them!_

  
_OH_  
_Nice bowl there!!! ;)  
  
  
  
_ Her confidence boosted by the sheer amount of winky faces Junkrat is dropping, Angela decides it’s probably safe to use more of them herself. She has no desire to play hard to get when it’s highly probable that this will be her only chance to talk to him.

 

_Would you call it a sitter? ;)_

_Wow hahaha!!_  
_Think I’d have to call that one a yorker!!! ;)  
  
  
  
_ Angela gasps out a laugh at this, a sound of panic more than amusement. Junkrat must be impressed that she’s used an actual cricket term with him judging by his complimentary use of ‘yorker’. Thank goodness her grandfather taught her enough cricket terminology to understand this—that he’s indirectly enabled her to have this oddly flirty conversation with her favourite celebrity consisting of… well, ball puns.

 

_Thank you ;)_

_  
Oh you are VERY welcome ;)_  
_Gonna have to try another angle of attack now though!!_  
_Or maybe I should say another ANGEL ;)  
  
  
  
_ Okay. If there’s anything she can take from this, it’s that Junkrat _really_ likes puns. Angela goes to reply, but he starts typing again before she can. She holds fire, waiting.  
  
  
  
_What if I told you that being BLESSED with your presence today ANSWERED MY PRAYERS, and has been, without a CLOUD of doubt, the HALO of my week?!  
  
  
  
_ Wow. That’s… wow. For all his winky faces, there’s no way he’s legitimately coming onto her right now with these sort of puns. Angela’s hand is shaking as she taps out a response.

_Then, as much as I appreciate your commitment to and enthusiasm for puns, I’m afraid I wouldn’t believe you!_

_  
  
You wouldn’t? Hmmm…… alright then_  
_Lemme rephrase that for ya  
Meeting you today is the best bloody thing that’s happened to me in ages to be perfectly honest :P  
  
  
  
_ In lieu of having Lena beside her for support, Angela drags one of the barstools out from beneath the kitchen counter and falls onto it, needing to steady herself now that her head is swimming. Junkrat has done a good job of maintaining a relatively normal conversation with her so far, like he isn’t a famous cricket star and she isn’t just another one of his fans. But this—declaration, admission, whatever it is he’s just offered, goes one step beyond jokey flirting and also one step beyond her comprehension, much to the shame of her PhD.

  
_I’m very flattered – overwhelmed to hear that, in fact - but I don’t understand how._  
_I’m nobody_.

  
  
Even though she knows Lena would probably advise against saying something like this, it’s the sad and unfortunate truth of the matter. There’s no reason for someone as famous as him to genuinely want anything to do with someone like her.

Angela braces herself for Junkrat’s response, feeling sick when the dots indicating that he’s typing appear. She almost doesn’t want to read it when it comes through.  
  
  
  
_Lol what???_  
_The Angela I met today definitely wasn't some “nobody”!!!!  
  
  
  
_ Angela chews her thumbnail, scowling at her phone. What exactly is Junkrat looking for, here? First a pickup line, then puns, then some—some hyperbolic declaration like he’s genuinely trying to woo her?

It almost feels cruel of him to do this. Perhaps Junkrat thinks it’s okay to act like all of this is normal. Perhaps it is, for him, just harmless banter with some silly fan. But regardless of how charming he’s being and all this attention he’s inexplicably lavishing on her, Angela cannot continue to pretend that they’re on a level playing field.

_  
That’s incredibly kind of you, but I think it’s rather obvious that we’re from two very different worlds._

  
  
Needing a drink, she puts her phone face down on the counter and takes out the bottle of red wine that’s been in her fridge for the last week. After glugging down a few mouthfuls Angela’s phone vibrates, and as she scrambles to grab it her stomach tightens when Junkrat’s replies start popping up in their chat window, one by one.  
  
  
  
_Shit……_  
_Yeah, you’re right_  
_What’s a mere mortal like me doing, thinking he can message a LITERAL ANGEL such low-level puns?!!!_  
_Maybe if I send a prayer instead, your beautiful, heavenly self might be so kind as to offer this pitiable excuse of a human a chance to redeem himself?!!  
  
  
  
_ Well. This is just… insanity, quite frankly.

She should be thrilled to see him turning her comment around like that, but Angela is so anxious about where the hell this could possibly go that she’s beginning to feel nauseous. Flirting like this is probably nothing to Junkrat, but it’s easily the most exciting and incredible thing that’s ever happened to her. For all of his apparent interest, she’s dreading the inevitable crash when Junkrat will stop replying and this magical—whatever it is will come to an abrupt and devastating end.

Wine probably isn’t a good idea, Angela thinks, topping up her glass with more anyway. Agonising for a minute over what the fuck she should say, and wishing Lena was with her right now so she at least had a second opinion, she constructs the most coherent reply she can manage after downing another mouthful.

_You can certainly try. I’m not a miracle worker, but my confessional box is open to submissions._

  
  
_That's the SPIRIT!!!! ;)  
Then I’ll give it a bash!_  
_Here goes……  
  
  
  
_ Angela starts pacing around the kitchen as she waits to see Junkrat type. She thinks the wine might’ve helped her nerves, but he’s taking much longer to reply this time. He’s probably, cruelly, making her wait on purpose, as he’s messaged her back almost instantly throughout their entire conversation. But she’s also completely at his mercy right now, so she waits, and waits.

Finally, Junkrat puts her out of her misery.  
  
  
  
_Would you_  
_Miss ANGELa_  
_Grace this humble, lowly, cricket-playing idiot_  
_With your blessing_  
_Your angelic loveliness_  
_Your ETHEREAL BEAUTY AND DIVINE PRESENCE……………………_

 _By going on a date with me tomorrow?  
  
  
  
_ Angela calls Lena.

“Alright, love?”

“Junkrat followed me on Twitter.”

Lena laughs.

“Sorry?”

“Junkrat. He followed me. He’s messaging me right now.”

“What? C’mon Ange, I know you had a great day but—”

“Check Twitter. Please.”

Lena sighs.

“Alright,” she says, before going quiet. Angela waits for the penny to drop.

“Oh my god. You—you’re not joking.”

“Please help me.”

“Did you say he’s messaging you?!”

“Lena, he’s. He’s just.”

“What?!”

Angela swallows, before squeaking, “He’s just asked me out on a date.”

“Oh my GOD I AM COMING OVER RIGHT NOW!!”

Lena hangs up. Angela goes back to her DMs. There it is, sitting innocently in their conversation window, awaiting her reply like it was two minutes ago when he initially sent it.

Junkrat’s invitation to _go on a date with him_.

Angela starts pacing again. She really has no idea how the hell she should reply to this—how to even process the fact that he wants a date with her—

And then Lena calls her back.

“I am in my car and on my way!”

“You are on speakerphone, aren’t you?” Angela asks, because even in the midst of her crisis she still needs to know that Lena is driving safely.

“Of course I’m on bloody speakerphone!” she snaps. “Now tell me what he’s said!”

“He just—he’s just—asked me out on a date tomorrow!”

“Fuck! Have you replied?!”

“No, I don’t know what to say!”

“Say yes you silly twat! Now!”

“But—”

“NOW!”

Angela goes on speakerphone herself so she can access Twitter.

“Oh, god, why is this so hard!” she whimpers.

“Ange, you need to tell me everything that’s been said so that I can help you!”

Angela reads out all of their messages.

“Right, okay,” Lena says, sounding collected now. “Here’s what you say. ‘If you promise to stop the puns, yes I will go on a date with you’!”

“But they're—the puns aren't _that_ bad, are they?"

"They are, and you need to know that he’s being serious!”

“But isn’t that too—I don’t know, arrogant of me?” Angela asks. She’s aware that Junkrat’s invitation has now gone unanswered for ten minutes, and while this sounds like an acceptable reply, she needs to be sure before she commits to it.

“How is it arrogant?! You could quite easily just say yes, but THIS way you’re letting him know you’re not being a bloody pushover just because he’s fucking—Junkrat!”

“But I am, because he is!”

“He doesn’t need to know that so will you just trust me and use what I’ve told you!!”

“Okay okay!!”

“I will be there soon, so put the kettle on and sit tight!”

Lena ends the call. Angela puts the kettle on and types out her message as instructed.

_  
On the condition that you maybe ease off the puns, yes! I’d absolutely love to go on a date with you!!_

  
  
Despite Lena’s confidence Angela is still unsure about this, afraid that it’s too ballsy to say anything other than a simple and unrestrained YES. But the need to reply is killing her now, as the timestamp says it’s been almost fifteen minutes since he messaged her, so she sends it with a trembling hand despite her reservations. With no way of knowing whether or not Junkrat has seen it, Angela resigns herself to existing in complete agony until he replies. If he does at all, of course, and this entire thing isn’t just some awful, elaborate prank.

Lena arrives. Angela opens the door. They scream at each other, jumping up and down in a frenzied hug, before Lena rushes into the kitchen. She's wearing slippers, pyjama shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

“I LITERALLY cannot believe this is happening right now!” Lena says, throwing her car keys on the counter. “Show me the messages! I want to see them with my own eyes!”

Angela hands over her phone. Lena drops onto the barstool only to immediately stand up again and start pacing while she reads, eyebrows etched into a deep frown as though she’s trying to decode some intricate puzzle. Angela stands by the kettle chewing her nails, waiting for her to say something. She doesn’t realise she’s made tea until suddenly she’s pressing a mug of it into Lena’s free hand.

“Cheers love,” Lena says, still reading the messages. “Olivia’s on her way too by the way.”

“What?! Don’t tell me you—”

“I called her before I got in the car, told her it was an emergency.”

“Lena!”

“Is this NOT an emergency?!”

“No, it is, I just—I don’t want the whole world knowing about it!”

“She won’t tell anyone!” Lena says, finally looking up from the messages. “We’re your besties!”

There’s an insistent knocking on the front door. Angela goes to open it and finds Olivia on the other side, dressed up and decked out in jewellery as though she was about to go out.

“Don’t tell me you were about to go out!” Angela says, instantly feeling bad, but Olivia barges straight through.

“I was, but this is WAY more important,” she says, heels clacking as she heads into the kitchen. Olivia drops her handbag on the table and sets her hands on her hips. “I need all of the details please, ladies!”

Lena passes Angela’s phone over to Olivia. Her eyes widen as she reads the messages.

“Okay, I think the most important thing we need to establish right now is whether or not this guy is single,” Olivia says, without looking up. “Is he?”

“I—I think so?” Angela says, having not expected this question. She hadn’t even thought about that.

“You _think_ so?” Lena asks, frowning. The sceptical look on Olivia’s face when she hands Angela’s phone back has dread pooling in her belly. He is, isn't he?

“Junkrat was—he was dating some Youtuber last year but I think they broke up a few months ago,” Angela says hurriedly. “He retweeted the breakup vlog she made about it because he was in it, I remember seeing it.”

“Woah. Uh, in that case, holy fucking shit,” Olivia says.

“My thoughts exactly,” Angela says, staring down at her phone.

Junkrat still hasn’t replied. The timestamp says it’s been almost ten minutes since she sent her acceptance of his date. This isn’t a problem until fifteen minutes have passed, because that’s how long she made him wait, and so long as it doesn’t go beyond that time there’s still a chance he wasn’t kidding about this and does genuinely want to go on a date with her.

Angela doesn’t realise she’s said all of this out loud until Lena and Olivia both reach out to hold her shoulders.

“Breathe!” Lena says.

“I just—why me? Why is he doing this? What if—what if he does this all the time, with other girls?”

“Who fucking cares if he does!” Olivia laughs. “He’s messaging YOU right now, isn’t he? Even if he is just looking for some ass he’s a fucking CELEBRITY!”

Angela's legs feel weak in a distinctly not-good way hearing this, so she reaches backwards, needing to brace herself against the kitchen counter. That wine earlier was definitely a mistake.

“Er—I mean, not that I think he’s hitting you up just to get laid, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Olivia adds, with a grimaced sort of smile.

It wasn’t, but it absolutely is now. In all the excitement of DMing Junkrat, Angela hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might only be messaging her for an easy fuck.

Thinking about it, though … would it _really_ be such a bad thing, even if he was?

Angela turns to Lena for reassurance from the frighteningly exhilarating thought of being in bed with Junkrat, and is sufficiently wrenched out of her panic when Lena shakes her head.

“Not gonna lie, I was worried about the same thing at first. But what matters here is that he’s messaging _you_ , and he wants to go on a date with _you_ , Ange. After reading those messages I really don’t think he’s looking for some quick shag here.”

“You don’t?” Angela says, trying to ignore the rather indecent scene currently playing out in her head. Her hands are clammier now than when she was queuing to meet him.

“Nope! Nobody in their right mind would use puns like that if they were sincerely trying to get laid,” Lena says, laughing. “Says a lot that he’s gone for cheese over sleaze!”

“Really?” Angela asks, managing to laugh at this ridiculous expression.

“Yeah, think about it! If he’d gone in with the whole ‘future husband’ thing that would’ve been too easy, and honestly? A bit creepy, because of how obviously embarrassed you were about it.”

Angela groans into her hands. Lena pats her shoulder.

“He could’ve been like, ‘so future wifey, fancy throwing a shrimp on the barbie with me, nudge nudge wink wink’! But instead he’s been like ‘g’day cobber, crikey, you’re a real Sheila!’”

Olivia bursts out laughing.

“Dude, your Australian accent fucking sucks ass.”

“Oh, thanks very much, love!”

Angela’s phone vibrates.

“He’s replied!” she says. Olivia and Lena swoop in either side of her.  
  
  
  
_WOOOOHOOOOOO!!!!!!  
Awwwww, no more puns?! That's no fun!!  
I SUPPOSE I can stop for now, but only because it’s you!! ;)  
  
  
  
_ “Wow, your cricket god is kind of adorable,” Olivia says.

“He’s still typing!” Lena says. They go still, waiting to see what he says.  
  
  
  
_Now then, as for our date……  
Your profile tells me you’re permanently undercaffeinated, soooooo  
Wanna go someplace for coffee???  
  
  
  
_ “Oh my god, he’s looked at my profile,” Angela says.

“Dude, that means he’s looked at your _Twitter_ ,” Olivia adds, horrified. “You have done damage control, right?”

“Fuck,” Lena says, her face going white.

“What? What’s wrong?” Angela looks frantically between them. “What do you mean by damage control?!”

Olivia grabs Angela’s shoulder and fixes her with an intense look.

“Two words,” she says gravely. “Yoga farts.”

“Oh GOD.”

Angela scrolls through her timeline, hastily deleting the offending tweets she’d sent to Lena the other day after her yoga class. They all had a real laugh about it at the time, and there’s a part of her that’s sad she’s having to censor herself just because Junkrat might have seen something like that.

The other, much bigger part of her, is on the cusp of having a nervous breakdown from the prospect of him going through her Twitter and being witness to any evidence of her being a normal human being. Angela scrolls as quickly as possible to delete any tweet she deems even remotely unsavoury. Her eyes widen when two new notifications appear.  
  
  
  
_**Liked by JUNKRAT:**  
One too many shots. Whoops https://t.co/gMJq...  
  
**Liked by JUNKRAT:  
** Out with the girls!  https://t.co/b4Aks...  
  
  
  
_“Oh no,” Angela whimpers.

“What’s he doing??” Lena says.

“He’s liking my photos. The ones we took a couple of weeks ago when we were all drunk.”

“PLEASE don’t tell me you neglected to check your pics as well,” Olivia says, groaning like she already knows the answer to this.

“Of course I haven’t!” Angela says, flustered. “I never once thought he’d—”

“Seriously, why did you add him before checking this stuff?” Olivia says. She’s swiping her phone like she’s already searching through Angela’s media tweets.

“You say that like I was at all prepared for any of this!”

“Okay, these leg hair pics need to go.”

“The leg hair thing is nothing for Ange to be ashamed of!” Lena snaps.

“No, she’s right, they need to go,” Angela says, feeling fragile as she finds the corresponding photos herself. They were from earlier in the year when Moira was retweeting a lot of feminist articles about body hair. Angela was proud that she hadn’t shaved in two months, and when Moira expressed her absolute disbelief she’d taken some pictures and put them on Twitter, showcasing her fuzzy blonde legs. Moira responded in kind with her own leg photos, which had been far more impressive considering her red hair. Angela can’t delete Moira’s pictures, but she can, and promptly does, delete her own.

“You really need to filter yourself better,” Olivia sighs. “Here’s hoping he hasn’t gone back too far.”

“I never put anything incriminating on Twitter anyway!” Angela says, indignantly.

“Wait, you still need to reply to him!” Lena says.

“Shit!”

They huddle around Angela’s phone. She goes to reply, then stops.

“What should I say?”

“Just tell him that coffee would be great and ask him what time!” Lena says.

“Aren’t you going to play just a _little_ hard to get?” Olivia asks.

“Nah, you don’t need to, he’s keen as mustard,” Lena says. “Just go for it!”

Angela taps out her reply and sends it off.

 

_I would love to go for a coffee with you!!  
What sort of time were you thinking?_

_  
Eeeeexcellent!!  
How’s 2pm for ya? :D  
  
  
  
_ “Nice,” Olivia says. “That’s, like, the best time for a first date.”

“It is?”

“Sure it is. Means it’s even less likely to be a booty call.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a very good point,” Angela says, exhaling. “Okay, so, now I just—should I suggest somewhere for us to go?”

“Good idea,” Lena says. “I doubt he’ll know anywhere around here and he’ll probably want somewhere a bit secluded.” She taps her chin in thought, then says, “What about Lucy’s?”

Lucy’s is an excellent suggestion. It’s an independent coffee shop that’s also close to a park, on the miniscule chance that Junkrat might want to extend their date beyond having a coffee.

“Lena, that’s perfect! I’ll ask him now!”

 

_2pm is great!  
I’m not sure if this is the sort of place you’d like, but it’s quite tucked away and, most importantly, has great coffee :)  
_

 

 

Angela sends over a link so Junkrat can assess Lucy’s himself. It’s a bold move when he’s initiated everything else, but she doesn’t feel as nervous about it with Lena and Olivia quite literally supporting her from both sides. Her stomach grumbles loudly while they’re waiting for his response.

“I’ll order pizza,” Olivia says, tapping on her phone. “Let’s get comfy.”

“I just—I honestly can’t believe any of this is real,” Angela says, shaking her head when they’re perched on her couch. She’s mindlessly browsing the newsfeed on Twitter, trying to distract herself while waiting for Junkrat’s reply. “I don’t know why he’s—I mean. Me, of all people. A literal who.”

“A literal who who’s bloody gorgeous!” Lena says, scowling. “Don’t sell yourself short like that!”

“I did say he was achievable,” Olivia says. “I just gotta say I didn’t think he’d be, uh. _This_ achievable.”

Angela puts her phone down on the coffee table to stop herself from checking it anymore. As soon as she does, it vibrates. All three of them lurch forward off the couch to look at it.  
  
  
  
_Hahaha I will trust your judgement on the coffee! ;)  
Shall I come pick you up so we can go together then??  
  
  
  
_ “He wants to pick me up?!”

“Fuck!” Olivia laughs. “Is this guy for real?!”

“He’s being a right gent, that’s for sure!” Lena says.

“I—wait, do you think he’ll want to come inside?” Angela says, realising that Junkrat’s gentlemanly offer brings with it an extra layer of anxiety. “I’ve barely got any food in!”

“If you’ve got milk, sugar and teabags you’re good,” Lena says, making her breathe a sigh of relief, because she does. They’re probably the only food items she always keeps well stocked.

“You’re not _seriously_ thinking of declining this, are you?” Olivia says, eyebrow arched right up.

“Of course I’m not!” Angela says, already typing out her reply. Her preference for first dates is usually to meet separately rather than be picked up, but there’s no way she’s going to decline any opportunity to spend more time with him.

_Yes please, that would be lovely! My postcode is: …_

_  
  
  
Cheers!! Then I’ll swing by at 2 and we’ll go grab a coffee!!!  
  
  
  
_ “Well, I—I suppose that settles it,” Angela says, more to herself than the other two.  “I’m going on a date with Junkrat!”

All three of them scream at each other, a high-pitched wail of shared disbelief. Angela laughs brightly when they jostle her between them.

“You are SO lucky, you know that?!” Olivia says. She pinches Angela’s cheeks. “How did you swing a date with an ACTUAL CELEBRITY from one goddamned fucking meeting at Tesco? Huh??”

“I don’t know! It doesn’t—doesn’t seem real that this is even happening right now!”

“I hope Emily has a signing soon.” Lena sighs dreamily. “Maybe the same thing will happen to me!”

“If it happens to you as well I’m terminating my friendship with both of you!” Olivia huffs, her bracelets clinking as she folds her arms. “I haven’t had a decent date in _weeks!_ ”

“Oi, neither have we!” Lena says. “Plus you’ve been on more dates this year than both of us combined!”

“Uh, yeah, because I’m actively looking on both Tinder _and_ Bumble!” Olivia says. “Angie, you’ve gone from nothing to having your damn cricket god basically eating out of your hand!”

“Oh, hardly!”

“I have to admit, Junkrat seems bloody keen,” Lena says. “Like, he’s probably two dates away from eating out of your hand.”

Olivia snorts. “Bet he’ll be eating out a lot more than just your hand.”

Lena throws her head back and crows out a laugh. Angela gives Olivia a playful shove.

“Please!” she says, her stomach curdling in a mixture of dismay and delight. “We haven’t even—oh, god. What if he stands me up? Or he does just want— _that_? What if we don’t even—”

“No!” Olivia says, giving her shoulders a firm shake. “You are NOT allowed to start worrying about this!”

“Ooohhhh, I just can’t wait to see how it goes,” Lena says, starry-eyed and cupping her face. “You’ll have to tell us everything! A full mission report afterwards!”

“You’re gonna need us here to help you pick out an outfit tomorrow morning, right?” Olivia says, grinning.

“I—yes. Yes, I definitely will!” Angela says, all panicked gratitude as she grabs Olivia’s arm. “I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to wear yet!”

The arrival of pizza is a sufficient distraction from the onset of worry about her outfit. Angela puts her phone face down on the coffee table. Vowing to stop checking it as they chat between taking slices, she can’t help glancing at it every other minute regardless, hoping it might buzz with another notification from him.

How exhilarating and terrifying to think that she now has an open line of dialogue with Junkrat. Angela could, in theory, message him anytime she wanted to now that they’re mutuals. If the girls weren’t here and they weren’t knee-deep in discussing Olivia’s last failed date, she could even be talking to him _right now_. The thought of actually doing so has her stomach folding over itself, though, caught between the desire to bombard him with messages but also the fear of dead-end conversations, and the very real possibility that they might not have any chemistry.

Worse still… what if they _do_?

It’s almost midnight when the girls finally leave. Exhausted after an exceptionally eventful day, Angela locks the front door and immediately swipes her phone off the coffee table, going straight to Twitter. The last message Junkrat sent was hours ago, and there have been no other notifications from him since then.

Should she say something? She wants to. In retrospect, it seems rude to have left his final message unacknowledged, though having time to simmer down just chatting with the girls feels like it’s helped round off her nerves, a little.

Angela heads into the bathroom while tapping out a message to him.

_Thank you for being so generous with your time today  
I’m so, so excited to see you tomorrow that I don’t know if I’ll even sleep!  
  
_

  
This may be too honest, but she’d rather show him that she’s keen than pretend otherwise. Even if he doesn’t respond to it, Junkrat has gone out of his way to talk to her. It’s the polite thing to do.

After scrubbing off her makeup, Angela blinks at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. No pimples at the moment, at least, but it might be time to bite the bullet and get her eyebrows microbladed. They’re too pale when they’re not filled in. Getting her lashes done wouldn’t hurt either, come to think of it. Angela looks ghostly without her face on, pale and washed out. For all of Lena’s esteem-boosting compliments, she still wonders what exactly Junkrat saw in her today that warranted so much of his attention. God, she wasn't even wearing any false eyelashes.

Angela is scrolling one-handed through Twitter while she's brushing her teeth when a banner pops up. With it comes the chest-thudding anticipation she's spent the entire evening trying to control, because Junkrat has replied.  
  
  
  
_Haha naaah I’m sure you will_ _sleep_ _:P  
Tomorrow at 2pm yeah?_

_  
Tomorrow at 2pm :)_

_  
Sweeeeeet!!!  
Looking forward to it!!  
_

_Me too!!!_ she writes back, wishing she could pour into text just how very excited she is.

It's a relief that Junkrat's still texting her back, but at the same time it fills her with the best and worst sort of dread, too. Having a one-sided crush on a celebrity is fine, but the possibility of that crush developing into something more than that? It feels dangerous to allow herself the belief that this might lead anywhere outside of a single date. But even now, staring at their open chat window, Angela can feel it. The deep worry of desperately wanting this to become something more, tendrils in her stomach threatening to grow into vines.   
  
Incredible that just one chance meeting—some book signing she wasn’t even planning on attending—could’ve resulted in something, in  _anything_  like this.

Please, please let the date go well tomorrow, Angela thinks, pressing her phone to her chest. _Please._

 

_*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Sneepy](http://time-for-mayhem.tumblr.com) and Muppet - [on Tumblr](http://one-irradiated-muppet.tumblr.com) [and Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/pseuds/one_irradiated_muppet) \- for beta reading this for me!!❤️
> 
> Also, very special thanks to [Blue Blossom](http://blue-blossom.tumblr.com)!! Thank you for writing Junkrat's message for me!!! Please check out Blue's art because it is GORGEOUS!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [Sneepy](https://time-for-mayhem.tumblr.com) for beta reading this for me!!!

Who needs sleep when you’ve got Korean facemasks?

This is what Angela tells herself the following morning while she's rummaging through her drawers trying to find them. When she does, she opens a ‘hydrating’ pack and slaps it on hoping it’ll rejuvenate her tired skin.

Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Angela is amazed that she only looks somewhat ghostlier than normal with a white sheet covering her entire face. Nonetheless, she’s grateful to have found a way of faking eight hours of sleep, and reads the facemask instructions while waiting for her coffee to brew. Hopefully its Korean magic will leave her positively radiant ready for her date later with Junkrat.

_Her date later with Junkrat._

Angela’s eyes glaze over as she stares at the coffee percolator. Will he flirt with her again? Hug her, perhaps? She has no idea what to expect from him but it feels dangerous to assume or hope for anything. While incredibly charming through text, what’s Junkrat going to be like in real life when it’s just the two of them, with no Twitter or book signing to fall back on? More pointedly, what will _she_ do to maintain his interest? Angela lucked out to have inexplicably caught Junkrat’s eye yesterday, but she can’t wear the same outfit twice, nor can she make the same jokes.

For all of her excitement, knowing there are merely hours between them is _terrifying_. Angela takes a moment to calm herself by inhaling the scent of her coffee. There’s plenty of time to find something nice to wear. The girls are en-route to help. Junkrat hasn’t unfollowed her or cancelled on her, so he’s definitely still interested. Angela just doesn’t know the extent of that interest, yet.

Wrapped in her bathrobe, she leans over the kitchen counter with a pen and the back of a grocery receipt. If she can list everything she needs to do it might be enough to contain her nerves.  
  
~~~~

_~~Shave legs~~ _  
~~_Wash hair_ ~~  
_Makeup_  
_OUTFIT_  
_Shoes??_  
_EAT_

That’s helped a little, but there’s a lot that needs to be done. Refocused, Angela forces down a bowl of cereal moments before the girls arrive. She’s still wearing the facemask when she opens the front door.

“Hi,” Angela says. Lena screams, practically jumping into Olivia’s arms.

“Bloody scared the crap out of me, that did!” Lena says, pointing at Angela’s face while Olivia laughs her ass off.

“Sorry,” Angela says, trying not to smile, “I completely forgot I was wearing it.”

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting to see a ghost this morning!” Lena says. They all go through to the kitchen. “So? Have you heard anything from him??”

“Ah, not yet.”

“What?! You’re joking! It’s already gone eleven, what’s he playing at?!”

“Dude, chill, it’s still early,” Olivia says. She’s wearing sunglasses and holding a frappe, probably having taken a detour to Starbucks before picking Lena up. Lena’s hair is sticking up everywhere like she tumbled out of bed and into Olivia’s car.

“I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you’ve both come over like this,” Angela says, pouring her a cup of tea.

“Hey, like I was gonna let _her_ choose something for you to wear,” Olivia says, earning an affronted _oi!_ from Lena. “Besides, I’m impressed to see you FINALLY wearing one of the facemasks I bought you.”

“Well, I remembered I had them at about three o’clock this morning, so I thought it was worth using one to wow him with my youthful complexion.”

“Jeez, did you get any sleep at all?”

“A few hours,” Angela says, the mask wrinkling as she smiles. The second her head hit the pillow last night it was like her brain was plugged into the mains, and she woke up far later than usual with her phone dead by her pillow, meaning she probably passed out somewhere between the meticulous removal of embarrassing tweets and re-reading her conversation with Junkrat for the hundredth time.

“Poor Ange, you must be so nervous!” Lena says.

“Any ideas what you’re gonna wear yet?” Olivia asks.

“Not yet. I don’t know where to start, to be honest.” Angela pulls her phone out of her pocket to look at her reflection in the black screen. “All I know is that I want to impress him without—OH!”

  
_**Twitter** now_  
_**JUNKRAT  
** Gooooood morning!!!_

  
  
“From him?!” Lena says.

“From him!” Angela gasps. The three of them huddle together as she goes to her DMs.

  
  
_Gooooood morning!!!_  
_We still on for today then?! ;)_

 

They collectively squeal, Olivia shaking her and Lena jumping up and down beside her. Angela wasn’t expecting to hear from him until—well, until seeing him, really. This is a very welcome surprise!

 

_Good morning!!  
We most certainly are! I can’t wait to see you!_

 

 _Good stuff good stuff ;)_  
_I’ll let ya know when I’m leaving :P_

Junkrat’s affirmation that this is closer to becoming a real and actual _thing_ is an intense adrenaline boost, and Angela is invigorated by the challenge of getting ready more than she is afraid of it as they all rush upstairs. Olivia flings open her wardrobe and Lena grabs handfuls of hangers, throwing them over her unmade bed so they can begin rifling through her clothing.

Angela’s initial choice is skinny jeans and a white button-down shirt. It’s vetoed by the girls on the grounds of it apparently being her uniform for every other date she goes on.

“It’s not a ‘uniform’,” Angela says indignantly, “it’s classy without being—”

“It’s fucking boring,” Olivia says. “You gotta step outta your comfort zone for this, Ange! Junkrat isn’t just some regular douchebag!”

“That’s true,” Angela concedes, “but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to be a bit… safe, for the first time.” She turns to Lena with a nervous smile. “Is there?”

Lena grimaces. “I think Ols is right. We love the arse off you but this might be your best shot, you know? For it being more than just a one off I mean." She pauses to stroke her chin before suggesting, "What about a dress? You always look beautiful in dresses!”

“A dress would be WAY better than jeans,” Olivia says. “Don’t you wanna show off those long legs for him?”

“You make a compelling argument,” Angela says, throwing aside the jeans and shirt with renewed determination. “A dress it is.”

With the entire contents of her summer wardrobe all over her bed, they try to find something midway between modest and revealing. Junkrat may have a first impression of Angela already, but a short meeting at a book signing is totally different to sitting together on a date. This outfit, like her makeup, will be a critical part of making a more lasting impression on him.

“What do we think of this? Will he like it?” Angela asks, plucking a short plunge dress out of the pile. The girls tilt their heads in assessment. It is a bit much for a coffee date, but Angela bought it in a sale last summer and hasn’t been brave enough to wear it yet. This applies to almost every nice item of clothing she owns, actually. She tends to cycle through the same two or three outfits outside of work.

Olivia firmly shakes her head.

“He DEFINITELY will, but for a first date? Nuh-uh. Shows too much skin.”

Lena balks at her.

“I’m sorry, who are you and what have you done with Olivia?”

“Hey, I’m serious! She can’t show him all the goods right away ‘cause then what’s he got to look forward to?”

“A long and fulfilling relationship, obviously!” Lena says, elbowing her.

“We’re all hoping for that, _obviously_ , but you know what I mean,” Olivia says, elbowing her back. “She’s gotta tease him to keep him coming back for more.”

“He’ll come back for more anyway!”

“I’m not saying he won’t, but for a first date I just think it’s a little much to have her titties out is all!”

As Lena and Olivia start bickering over how much cleavage she should have on show, Angela drops the dress with a sigh. Junkrat’s message has sustained her excitement up until now but it’s taking ages to figure out what to wear and the clock is ticking ever closer to 2pm. She still hasn’t done her face yet.

Oh, the mask. Angela peels it off. It’s left her skin wonderfully soft, but the commitment of applying makeup is a weight on her shoulders getting heavier by the second, and the girls are still bickering over what she should wear.

Angela’s phone buzzes in her bathrobe pocket.

 

_Omw!  
Google says traffics terrible lol so if I’m a tad late don’t worry :P_

“Ladies,” Angela says. They whip around to look at her. “He’s—Junkrat’s leaving. Now. He’s on his way now!”

Lena checks her watch.

“Shit, I didn’t realise it was so late!”

“I’ll—I’ll go with the sundress, the rose print one!” Angela says, hurrying to find it in the pile.

Lena and Olivia are shocked when Angela holds it against herself. It’s a bold print but the fit is good and it’s knee length. Hoping that Junkrat will approve despite it being much girlier than what she’d ordinarily wear on a first date, Angela blow dries her hair before pulling the dress on. She finally starts on her makeup while the girls put her clothing away.

“When was the last time you went out?” Olivia asks. “Like, on a date.”

“Last month,” Angela says. She’s patting on her foundation in front of her full length mirror. “Don’t you remember? With Jack’s delightful colleague Gary.”

Olivia sucks her teeth. “Guess I forgot about that. Man, I don’t know _what_ Jack was thinking setting you up with that guy.”

“Gary hasn’t texted you anymore, has he?” Lena asks, frowning.

“A couple of times to ask if I’d consider having dinner with him. I’ve just… politely deflected. But this is—I don’t know _._ ” Angela sighs, rummaging through her makeup bag for some blush. “It’s different.”

“No it isn’t!” Lena says. “I mean it _kind_ of is, because Junkrat’s—you know. Two million followers and all that.” Angela wilts. “But he’s only human!”

“How reassuring. Somehow I doubt he’s been fretting over what to wear,” Angela says, weakly.

“No, but he _will_ be nervous, I guarantee it!”

“Yeah right,” Olivia snorts. “Guys have it way easier than we do. Is he driving over here?”

“I believe so.”

“Wonder what sorta car he’s got,” Olivia says, thoughtfully. She’s perched on the edge of the bed now, Lena sitting cross-legged in the middle of it. “Maybe he’s got an Audi like me. Or something _flashy_ , like a Porsche.”

“Tch, who cares about his car?! I wanna know if he knows Emily!”

“Shit, that’s a point! He probably knows a bunch of other celebrities! You think he might know any soccer players?!”

“Definitely! Ohh, just imagine, celebrity double dates!”

“Will you stop that?” Angela pleads, putting her mascara down to scowl around at them. “I haven’t even been on _this_ date with him yet!”

“Relax, we’re only kidding,” Olivia says. “How far’s Junky boy travelling anyways?”

“Junky boy,” Angela says, dryly.

“Yeah. Is he like, staying in a hotel or something for all the signings he’s been doing?”

“I assume he lives here because he plays for one of the English county teams.”

Olivia arches an eyebrow above her sunglasses.

“I thought he was Australian?”

“He is, but lots of cricketers play for multiple teams. He played for India a couple of years ago.”

“Ols, it’s like the footie,” Lena says. “All the English premier league teams are made up of international players. Most of Arsenal’s Spanish!”

“Right,” Olivia says, taking a disinterested sip from her frappe. Angela returns to her mascara.

“Anyway, I have no idea where he’s coming from or how he might’ve spent his morning. Maybe he was training? What do famous cricketers do on a Sunday?”

“I dunno, what does anybody do a Sunday?” Olivia says, whipping her phone out. She taps a couple of times and rolls her thumb over the screen. “He hasn’t tweeted anything, so your guess is as good as mine.”

“I could always ask him,” Angela says, offering them a coy smile from over her shoulder. “You know. On our date!!”

They all squeal, again. Suddenly there’s only half an hour to go. With her makeup finished a joint decision is made to pair her dress with a white pleather jacket, her most reliable pair of kitten heels, and an over-the-shoulder handbag. Downstairs in the kitchen so that Lena can have another cup of tea, Angela poses in her completed outfit for their final assessment.

“I’m ready. Am I ready? I think I’m ready,” she says, not feeling at all ready for any of this.

“You look gorgeous!” Lena says, clapping her hands together.

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

“He’ll _love_ it,” Olivia says, fluffing Angela’s bangs with her long fingernails. Her hair is down today, loose around her shoulders rather than up in its usual ponytail. “This is honestly the most exciting thing that’s never happened to me.”

“What do you reckon he’ll be like? Ohh, I just can’t wait to see how it all goes!” Lena says, bouncing up and down next to them. “Wish I could be a fly on the wall!”

“You are NOT allowed to follow us.”

“Naaah, we wouldn’t do that,” Olivia says, before lifting her sunglasses and waggling her eyebrows. “Or would we?”

“Might help to have us around as backup y’know, in case he turns out to be a bellend and you need us to beat him up!”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Angela says, chuckling. Lena has raised a valid point, though. If this date does go pear-shaped—a possibility she hasn’t wanted to entertain thus far—Angela doesn’t have any backup plan outside of calling a taxi and crying to the girls.

Shit, she thinks, picking at her thumbnail. It won’t actually come to that, will it?

“Do you, um. Think it’s okay that I gave him my postcode?” Angela asks, glancing between them.

“How is that a problem?” Olivia says, frowning.

“Because he—now he knows where I live.”

“So?! What do you think he’s gonna do?!”

“I don’t know!”

"Ange, he’s a cricketer! He’s not gonna come here and fuckin’ murder you, is he!”

“Oh, please, I’m not saying he will, I just—I’m worried about him knowing my address, that’s all!”

“Uhh, it’s a little late for that!”

“He literally used puns to get you on a date with him,” Lena says incredulously, like Angela’s being ridiculous. “He’s a bloody goofball, not some criminal mastermind!”

“C’mon, dude, you’re meeting him soon, now isn’t the time to start shitting it!”

“It’s the perfect time to start shitting it!” Angela snaps. Her giddiness is verging on panic now that the reality of the impending situation is hitting her. “I just—what are we going to talk about? What if we have literally nothing in common?!”

“Of _course_ you have something in common,” Olivia says. “Cricket! Duh!”

“Ah. Right,” Angela says. She supposes she knows enough to hold a conversation about it, but surely… surely cricket won’t be the _only_ thing.

“Save all this worrying for the second date, okay?” Olivia says, with a confidence that Angela could only dream of. She doesn’t want to assume Junkrat’s going to _hug_ her today, let alone anything more than that!

“But what—what if there isn’t one?” Angela says, dropping onto one the barstools and fanning herself. “We all know this is practically my only shot at this! What if I’m not—I don’t know. Glamorous enough. What if my boobs are too small? What if he finds me boring!”

“Boring!” Lena says, dismayed.

“Okay, _chica,_ listen to me,” Olivia says, taking Angela’s hands in hers. “If Junkrat was this super serious asshole then maybe I could understand you being worried like this, but he’s not, is he?”

“It... no, he’s not,” Angela mumbles, looking down at her feet.

“I know you’re scared. I’d be scared too if this shit was happening to me. But you’re going on a date with your cricket god!” Olivia squeezes her hands. “It’ll be a _blast_ , okay? And if it isn’t, and it sucks _ass,_ and he’s the BIGGEST fuckin’ douchebag, we’re gonna be here for you to laugh about it later. Alright?”

“We really are here for you lovely,” Lena says, rubbing her shoulder. “But I honestly think you’ll have a fantastic day together.”

“Me too,” Olivia says, smiling. “Just try and have fun, okay? Don’t get in your head about it.”

Angela breathes in, breathes out. She knows they’re right, that the worst thing she can do is frazzle herself by overthinking everything. Junkrat was still drawn to her yesterday despite how nervous she’d been—had liked her enough to find her on Twitter and ask her on this date.  He’s been nothing but enthusiastic the whole time they’ve been talking. There’s no reason to worry.

“Okay. I’ll—I’ll try.” While still jittery, Angela is feeling tempered enough to stand up again, smoothing out her dress. “Anyway, it’s almost two. He could arrive any minute.”

“Yeah, we should head off,” Lena sighs.

“Aww, I wanted to see him in person!” Olivia says. “You sure you don’t want us to stay?”

“I appreciate it, but it would be weird if he saw you both here. I don’t want him to know it took three people to help me get dressed today,” Angela says, smiling sadly at them.

“Don’t say it like that,” Lena says, giving her shoulder a little shake. “We know it’s a big deal, Ange. This is what friends are for!”

The girls offer a final good luck by the front door. Angela pulls them into a goodbye hug, thanking them for their help and assuring them that she’ll provide a full report once she’s home. And then she’s alone. Waiting.

2pm. Angela stands by the sitting room window looking out onto her driveway. The sky is clear and it’s sunny, perfect weather for a coffee followed by a stroll in the park. As the minutes tick by, she repeats the mantra of _don’t overthink it, just have fun._ She thinks she feels better without the girls here, confident and in control.

2:10pm. No arrival yet. No messages indicating that Junkrat might be lost, either, so Angela is guessing that traffic has indeed held him up. She’s gripping the sleeves of her jacket because if she doesn’t she’ll start chewing her nails, and she’s too afraid to pace lest she turns away from the window the moment Junkrat drives past. Breathe, she thinks, channelling everything Olivia and Lena said. It’s the same as any other date. Just breathe.

2:16pm. The road has been dead, typical for a Sunday afternoon in her neighbourhood. Angela’s confidence is crumbling and she’s tempted to call the girls and ask them to share this agonizing wait with her when suddenly she snaps to attention, because a car is coming down the road.

It’s a Range Rover, big and expensive, though the wheel arches are caked in mud. Angela’s heart stops when it slows by her house. It pulls into the driveway, parking up.

The windshield is tinted. Angela clutches the curtains. The driver door opens, and two sneakered feet step out, and—

It’s real. It’s happening. He’s—that’s his car, that’s him.

That’s HIM.

Junkrat is holding his phone as he shuts the driver door. He’s dressed casually, in a fitted t-shirt and jeans. He glances up at Angela’s house, bushy eyebrows peeking above the sunglasses he’s wearing, before looking down at his phone, tapping it with his thumb. Angela gasps when hers vibrates in her jacket pocket.

 

_Anyone home? :P_

 

An excited squeak escapes her throat. Junkrat is—not only is he handsome, not only is he _real_ , but he’s here, he’s actually HERE!

Angela rushes to the doorway. She’s got her phone, her bag. Some of her confidence back. Drawing one long breath to collect herself, she opens the front door and steps outside.

“Hey!” she says, waving when Junkrat looks up at her.

“Woah!” he says, jerking backwards as though he’s been blown away. Junkrat snatches off his sunglasses to give her a rather obvious once-over. “Blimey, am I lost or something?! ‘Cause I seem to’ve arrived in heaven!”

Angela laughs breathlessly, because Lena was right. Junkrat really _is_ a goofball, and this is by far the best greeting she’s ever had on a first date, if not _any_.

“G’day!” he says cheerily, baring his perfect teeth in a grin as she steps up to him. Angela freezes.

“I—I—”

“Well come on then, you giving us a hug or what!” Junkrat laughs, opening his arms out to her.

“Of—of course!”

Angela wraps her arms around Junkrat’s back as he tugs her into a full-body hug. It elicits a panicked giggle from her, one that makes Junkrat chuckle too, and when he cuddles her against him Angela tightens her grip on him in kind, laughing in giddy exhilaration as they squeeze one another. This is totally unlike the hug Junkrat gave her at the signing—far more intimate than being held against his side. It’s overwhelming, the scent of his cologne where she’s so close to his neck, his strong arms around her waist. Angela closes her eyes, trying to absorb how wonderful it is to be enveloped by him, and when he pulls back she’s almost dazed, because she simply cannot _believe_ that Junkrat hasn’t been here for a minute yet and he’s already hugged her.

“Feel better?” Junkrat asks, holding her by the shoulders. He doesn’t seem to have stopped grinning. Angela nods dumbly.

“Thank you!”

“Good! I er, hope there wasn’t an embargo on puns by the way, seein’ as I’ve already gone and broken it!”

“No, there—there wasn’t,” Angela says, uselessly. God, he’s, he’s just so—

“Phew, thassa relief! Woulda hated to get off on the wrong foot with ya!”

Junkrat taps his right leg. Angela covers her mouth as she giggles, trying to stay graceful even though she’s fit to burst with excitement. Junkrat often makes jokes about his missing limb in his videos, but the fact that he’s doing so with her, in person, is insane. This whole _thing_ is insane!

“Really though, you look bloody gorgeous,” Junkrat says, his grin softening. Angela bites her lip and shakes her head at him. “What?! That one wasn’t even a pun!”

“I’m sorry, I’m just, this is so—surreal!”

“You’re tellin’ me! Got this divine woman right before my eyes, think I’m gettin’ religion just lookin’ at her!”

“Oh my god,” Angela laughs, flattening a hand on her chest. She doesn’t blush easily but these puns are making her face hot. No amount of worrying would’ve prepared her for this now that she’s in front of him being complimented like this.

“Alright alright, I’ll give the puns a rest,” Junkrat says, snickering. He thumbs at the car. “If you’re all set n’ready to go shall we make a move? ‘Cause I dunno about you, but I’m gagging for a coffee!”

“Yes, absolutely, me too!”

Angela skitters around to the passenger door of the car, which Junkrat pushes open from the inside. She eases in carefully as he starts the engine, terrified of banging her head or having her skirt ride up. Then she’s sitting in his car. Ready to go on their date.

Junkrat’s car isn’t quite how she thought it would be, inside. It’s certainly swish, with leather seats and an LCD screen, but it’s also littered with expired car park receipts and Angela’s foot well is covered in dried mud. A tall McDonald’s cup is in one of the cupholders while the other is stuffed with a plastic food wrapper and a set of keys. It reminds her of Jesse’s car, though his beaten up Ford isn’t nearly as fancy as this.

Junkrat has his sunglasses on again and is sliding his phone into a plastic holder on the windshield. As Angela clicks her seatbelt in she glances at the back seats, and her stomach jerks at the sight of Junkrat’s cricket kit. Kneepads, bats, duffel bags. His helmet. _The_ helmet, in fact, green with a red smiley face on the cap. Angela swallows, both alarmed and embarrassed by how intensely excited she is to see some muddy cricket gear. It’s a potent reminder of who she’s sitting next to right now, as if she needed one.

“’Scuse the mess, this baby’s my runaround.”

“It’s fine, you should see my friend’s car. I don’t think he’s cleaned it in about a year.”

“Haaah, I know how that goes!”

Junkrat reverses the car out, turning it ready to leave. As he does, Angela spots an Audi parked up on the pavement.

Lena and Olivia, sitting inside it, are fervently waving at them. Angela shrivels into her seat when she hears their muffled screaming from in here.

“Right, now where are we—oh,” Junkrat says, spotting them. “Those guys your mates, are they?”

“I have never seen them before in my life,” Angela deadpans.

“Huh. Didn’t that one on the right come with you yesterday?” Junkrat says, with a note of curious amusement.

“As I said, never seen them before in my life,” she says, though it’s betrayed by an ever-suffering smile.

Junkrat just laughs, driving out onto the road. The girls won’t be able to see them waving back through the tinted windshield so he toots them as they pass. A barrage of tooting from Olivia’s car follows, and Angela visualises Lena leaning over to the driver’s side, fighting Olivia off to furiously bang the horn. She’s grateful that Junkrat is laughing about it though, like he’s genuinely amused rather than freaked out.

“Woulda said hello to ‘em if you’d told me they were waiting, y’know!”

“I had no idea they were there!” Angela says, panicking when Junkrat gives a sceptical _hmm_ like he doesn’t believe her. “Please, I swear!”

“Nahh, I’m only teasing! I believe ya, no worries.”

Junkrat grins across at her. Angela smiles back, wishing a single look from him wasn’t enough to knot her stomach. It is utterly unreal that she’s sitting next to him right now, being grinned at like that.

“Gonna hafta thank her at some point though,” Junkrat says, looking away again. “Your mate from yesterday.”

“Thank her? You mean—Lena?”

“She the one who wrote your Twitter for me?”

“Oh. Yes, she—that was her.”

“Then yeah, Lena.”

Angela stares at him. Junkrat keeps his eyes on the road. It seems unbelievable that he’s brought up what happened yesterday even though it’s a perfectly normal thing to talk about considering it’s the reason she’s here today.

What’s more unbelievable is the question Angela wants to ask in return. If this date is going to be her best shot, though… she may as well go for it, shouldn’t she?

“What, um. What would you have done if she hadn’t written my Twitter?”

“Oh-hoooo!” Junkrat says, like he’s impressed that she’s been bold enough to ask him this. Angela is impressed with herself, frankly. “Now _there’s_ a question. Hmmm. What would I have _done_ …”

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Angela holds her breath.

“If you _must_ know, I was gonna ask if you could wait around for my lunch break before ya left. Buuut I sorta thought asking for a date outta the blue like that woulda put you on the spot, so I didn’t.”

“Wh—Really?” Angela says, squeakily. She thought Junkrat wanted to say something to her before she left the signing yesterday, but to know that he was already thinking about asking her out? And that he’s happy to just—volunteer this information like it’s nothing, now?

“Really. Anyway, what matters is that your mate came through for us!” Junkrat chirps. “Good thing I remembered your username too, brain’s a bloody sieve half the time.”

“I’m—I’m very happy you did! This is all just, so.” Angela pauses, smiling down at her dress. “I _still_ can’t believe it, to be honest.”

“Pffft, relax,” Junkrat says, waving her off. “I’m just glad y’said yes! Woulda felt like a right creep if ya hadn’t!”

“I did not find it creepy in the least! I was and am completely thrilled that you messaged me,” Angela says, wondering how obvious it is that this is an enormous understatement.

“Then that makes two of us!”

They share another grin before Junkrat returns his attention to the road. Needing a distraction to settle herself, Angela pulls her phone out to send a _what the HELL you two!!!_ to the girls’ WhatsApp group. Then she smooths out her dress and checks her makeup in the wingmirror, anything to avoid staring gormlessly at him. Junkrat seems to be concentrating on where he’s going anyway, following the map on his phone.

“Did you travel far?” she asks, when it’s been quiet for a little too long. The radio is tuned into a sports channel but it’s just background noise, not loud enough to fill the lack of conversation.

“Ehhh, an hour, or thereabouts,” Junkrat says. “Had to put my foot down, bloody roadworks on the motorway held me up for ages!”

So he’s an hour away. Angela isn’t comfortable asking exactly where Junkrat lives, though. For anyone else it would be a fair question, but for a celebrity? It seems rude to pry into his personal life like that.

“I really appreciate you coming out of your way,” she says, instead.

“Hey, this ain’t comin’ outta my way at all! Always good seein’ new places.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything to see around here,” Angela says, a subtle warning for Junkrat to brace himself for disappointment. “This town doesn’t have much to offer, I’m afraid.”

“Ohhhh, now I wouldn’t say that,” Junkrat purrs. Angela glances out of the window, trying not to grin like an idiot from what he’s implying. “Looks like we’re almost there!”

“Ah, yes, we are. I wouldn’t follow the satnav anymore as it’ll give you the worst possible way in.”

“Alright, lead the way!”

Angela guides Junkrat through town and into a car park.  She’s jittery again stepping out of the car, like she’s stepping of the frying pan and into the fire. Things have been going smoothly enough for all ten minutes she’s spent with him, and Junkrat has been as charming in real life as he was online, which is a reassuring statement of his character. But for all of his charisma and good looks, Angela doesn’t really know anything else about him yet. He could still turn out to be an asshole, as Olivia so succinctly put it.

She smiles when Junkrat walks around to her.

“You ready?”

“Ready,” she says. “Lucy’s isn’t far from here.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

Junkrat puts his hands in his pockets as they start walking, and Angela scolds herself for being disappointed. Why should she expect him to hold her hand right off the bat? She should be grateful she’s already had a hug from him!

Weather is a safe topic while they walk together, standard small talk before they can sit down and properly chat. Junkrat loves how sunny it’s been recently. Angela isn’t at all surprised, stealing a glance at his exposed arms that are tanned and dotted with moles just like his face. If she feels this hot just from looking at them maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t hold her hand after all.

Only the restaurants and cafes are open seeing as it’s a Sunday, so town is quiet. Angela wonders how often Junkrat will be recognised, if he will be at all. Aside from his accent and height Junkrat’s most identifiable feature, his prosthetic leg, is concealed by his jeans. Cricket is also relatively niche in comparison to other sports, though he isn’t famous for that alone. When they come to Lucy’s there don’t appear to be many people inside, and none of them take any notice when they come in either, which is what Angela was hoping for. The quieter the better.

Lucy’s is an independent coffee shop that’s been open for a few months. When Lena first brought her here Angela was expecting a quaint tea room run by some sweet old lady. She was surprised to walk inside and see neon green décor, sleek grey tables, and a young Brazilian guy behind the counter running it. Angela doesn’t know him personally, but the girls come often enough for him to recognise them, and Lena mentioned that he moved here to pursue a career in music.

“Hello hello!” Lúcio says, from over his shoulder. He’s just finished cleaning one of the tables.

“Hey,” Angela says, when Lúcio smiles at her in recognition.

“Arvo,” Junkrat says. He’s looking at the stack of business cards by a jar of brownies on the counter—Lúcio’s SoundCloud and OC Remix links.

Lúcio dashes around to the other side of the counter as they read the board menu above it. He doesn’t seem to have acknowledged who Junkrat is, though he’s also preoccupied poking at the cash register.

“What can I get you guys today?”

“Reckon it’ll be a cappuccino for me,” Junkrat says. “Know what you want?”

“Um,” Angela says, wishing she had the courage to say _you_. “I think I’ll have a regular latte.”

Junkrat nods towards the pastries in the glass cabinet.

“How about something to eat?” he says, gently bumping his arm into hers. “Could share a slice of cake!”

“Oh! Yes, if you’re sure you’d like to share!” Angela says, brightly. Her stomach feels too knotted to consider eating anything in truth, but she can’t decline an opportunity to share food with him.

“’Course! I fancy somethin’ sweet. Ohh, looka that one,” Junkrat says, pointing at a glazed chocolate cake. “How’dya feel about chocolate?”

“I LOVE chocolate!” Angela gasps, grabbing Junkrat’s arm in a fit of excitement.

Shit. That was totally unconscious _._ She whips her hands away with a nervous giggle, Junkrat’s eyes wide as he blinks at her.

“Sorry, I just. Really like chocolate.”

“Hey no, that uh—that’s good to know!” Junkrat laughs. He’s smiling as he addresses Lúcio. “Alright mate, can I get a large cappuccino, medium latte and a slice of that fudge cake?”

“Sure thing!” Lúcio says, easing a slice of it onto a plate. When he tells them the total Junkrat takes out his wallet.

“Let me get this,” Angela says hurriedly, rushing to grab her purse. She doesn’t want him to feel obligated to pay just because he’s a celebrity, but Junkrat puts a hand on her arm this time, stopping her.

“Uhh, I don’t think so!” Junkrat says, letting go. “This one’s on me!”

“It—but—I don’t want you to feel like you have to!”

“Tch! What sorta bloke would I be to have you payin’ on our first date? Hmm?”

Junkrat quirks a brow at her. Angela glances to Lúcio.

“Hey, if he’s offering!” Lúcio says, holding up his hands like he doesn’t want to get involved.

“If… okay, if you insist,” Angela says, smiling shyly at Junkrat. He’s beaming at her. “Thank you.”

“Right then, little lady, you go find us a table and I’ll be two ticks!”

Little lady? Nobody has ever called her that before. It sounds almost painfully cute in Junkrat’s accent too, a term of endearment she’d already like to hear again. Seeing as she’s apparently incapable of controlling herself Angela touches Junkrat’s shoulder as she slides past, which appears to make him grin as he opens his wallet.  It’s a way of conveying her gratitude without flat out telling him she’s basically losing her mind from the combined assault of a cute nickname and his generosity—but it’s also an excuse to touch him again, tangible proof that he’s really here with her. _For_ her.

Angela finds a two seater at the back of the shop. Once she’s settled she refocuses her attention on Junkrat, watching him chat with Lúcio. He’s already been much flirtier than she hoped he would be, making puns and offering to share the cake with her. He also wasn’t offended by his arm being grabbed. This is supposed to be a casual coffee date, isn’t it? Not some serious job interview, just a fun opportunity to get to know one another. Junkrat may be a celebrity, but it’s no good if she’s too afraid to talk to him or try flirting back!

He joins her then anyway, tucking his wallet in his back pocket.

“He’ll bring ‘em over,” Junkrat says, dropping into the chair opposite her.

“Really, thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it!”

Junkrat lays his sunglasses on the table, those brown eyes from yesterday now meeting hers. They both take a breath to speak.

“Um, by the way—”

“So I wanna know—”

They pause, blinking at each other. Then they laugh, Angela looking down at her lap while Junkrat shakes his head. She’s relieved that he’s embarrassed as well because it feels almost reassuringly awkward, like this really _is_ just like any other date.

“Shit, me and my big gob,” Junkrat says, though he’s grinning when Angela looks up. “Go on, ladies first!”

“Sorry,” Angela says, sheepishly. “I just wanted to ask—do you prefer to be called Junkrat? Or should I call you something else?"

“To be honest pretty much everyone calls me Junkrat. Or Rat. _Sometimes_ Junk, but mostly Rat!”

“And you don’t mind?”

“Naaah, used to it by now. S’been my nickname since I was little!”

“I’m sure I’ve read about it in one of your old interviews.”

“Oh yeah?” Junkrat asks, leaning forward inquisitively. The origin story of Junkrat’s moniker is common knowledge, so hopefully he isn’t weirded out by Angela knowing.

“If I remember correctly, it was because you used to make cricket bats using scrap metal from a local junkyard when you couldn’t afford to buy them. Everyone at school called you ‘the Junkrat’.”

“Yup, that’s right! And it’s stuck ever since. Feels odd when I’m not called Junkrat these days!”

He fingerguns her.

“But _you_ can call me whatever you want. So long as you call me!”

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use that in real life before!” Angela chuckles. It’s exceptionally corny but she isn’t one bit put off by it, thrilled that he’s using yet another pun on her. “Though, um. I _would_ need your phone number to actually call you, you know.”

Oh, fuck. Is this impressively brave or unimaginably stupid? Junkrat sputters like he’s surprised by it, too.

“Trying it on with me are ya, Miss Angel?” he says, folding his arms. Figuring that Junkrat hasn’t flat out rejected her, Angela makes the split second decision to double down on her sass.

“You missed an A,” she says coolly.

“Cheeky thing!” Junkrat laughs. Angela didn’t think she was physically capable of taking such enormous risks, but really, he was asking for a response like that!

“Alright, _Miss Angela,_ if we’re gonna exchange numbers I think it’s only fair I ask you the same thing.” Junkrat cocks his head. “Got any other nicknames I should know about before I step outta line again?”

“No, just Angela is fine,” she says, acting like she isn’t beside herself that Junkrat is even considering exchanging numbers as a result of her unplanned sass. “My friends call me Angie or Ange, if that helps.”

“What about Mercy?”

“Ah.” Angela wasn’t anticipating him to question her Twitter username. “That’s… just a username. Nobody actually calls me Mercy.”

“You sure about that?” Junkrat says, leaning forward again. His arms are folded on the table. “’Cause it sounds like the perfect name for an angel who takes pity on hapless bastards by going on dates with ‘em, if y’ask me!”

“Oh, please, don’t say that!” Angela says, gently scolding as she reaches across to shake Junkrat’s forearm. Again, he doesn’t seem at all bothered by it. “Mercy is just a silly childhood nickname, really.”

“A childhood nickname? Now I hafta hear about it!” Junkrat says, wiggling like he’s settling in for a story.

“God,” Angela says, leaning back in her seat. She hasn’t even told the girls about this. “Okay, when I was a child, my father used to read me bedtime stories in English to help me learn it. My favourite book was Mermaid by the Sea. Apparently I used to shorten it to ‘mer-sea’ when I asked him to read it to me.”

“Ah-haaaa! So he started callin’ ya Mercy, did he?”

“He did, yes.”

“That is absolutely fuckin’ adorable,” Junkrat sighs, resting his cheek in his palm. Angela laughs at his soft cuss. “So I take it you ain't a pom then?”

“I’m not, but I have been living here for a while.”

“Thought as much. Your accent’s one’a the first things I noticed about ya.” Junkrat’s eyes narrow in scrutiny. “Hmm… Lemme guess. Dutch?”

“Not quite.”

“German?”

“Sort of,” Angela says, knowing he probably won’t be able to guess. “Swiss German.”

“Swiss German? Huh,” Junkrat says, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger and unfairly drawing Angela’s attention to his sharp jawline. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. Is it different to German German?”

“It’s very different.”

“Yeah? Can I hear some?”

Angela wets her lips, before saying, in Swiss German, “You could ask me to do anything you wanted and I’d probably do it.”

“Woah,” Junkrat says, face brightening in awe. “Didn’t understand a bloody word of that! Y’didn’t tell us to bugger off, didja?”

“No, no, definitely not,” Angela laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Then what didja say?”

Angela purses her lips to suppress her smile. Junkrat nudges her foot beneath the table.

“Go on, tell me! I wanna know!”

“One large cappuccino, one regular latte, and one cake to share,” Lúcio says, having just appeared beside them with a tray.

“Thank you,” Angela says, mostly for the diversion as he sets it down. Junkrat is showing a surprising amount of interest in her, and somehow she has this sinking feeling that he isn’t going to be an asshole after all. On the contrary, he’s been worryingly sweet so far.

“Cheers mate,” Junkrat says, watching Lúcio straighten up. “Nice pin by the way!”

He’s referring to an enamel pin on Lúcio’s shirt pocket, a pink and white bunny head.

Wait. Where has Angela seen that before?

“Thanks man, I’m a _huge_ D.va fan,” Lúcio says, rubbing his neck.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I—woah, wait, hold up.” Lúcio jerks back. He squints at Junkrat like he’s finally twigged. “You’re not. You’re not Junkrat, are you?!”

“Yup, that’s me!”

“Holy—wow, I can’t _believe_ I didn’t notice!”

Junkrat holds his hand out for Lúcio to shake, which he does, excitedly. An awful feeling pools in Angela’s stomach.

“I’ve seen some of your stuff on D.va’s channel!” Lúcio says, before hesitating. “Shoot, uh. Sorry, I know you guys were, uh.”

“Naaah, we’re all good,” Junkrat says, with a casual wave of his hand. “Still mates, no worries!”

Suddenly, sitting here on her date with Junkrat, Angela remembers her conversation with the girls yesterday. _Is he single? Yes, he was dating some Youtuber last year but I think they broke up a few months ago._

The Youtuber. The Youtuber Junkrat was dating.

“I’ll let D.va know she should swing by the next time she’s in the UK!”

“Wow! Thanks so much dude!” Lúcio laughs, ruffling a hand through his dreadlocks like he’s blown away by this. “Anyways, sorry to interrupt your date. Can I get you guys anything else?”

“I—I think we’re good, thank you,” Angela says, forcing a smile for Lúcio before he walks away.

“Look at these!” Junkrat says, pointing at the frog faces carved into the foam on their coffees. “Oh, I just gotta put ‘em on Insta!”

When he grabs his phone for a photo Angela leans away from the table to ensure she won’t be in the shot. Junkrat pouts at her.

“Awww, no pic?”

“I—would rather not,” Angela says, with D.va and Junkrat’s breakup vlog playing clearly in her mind.

“Not even for me? _Just_ for me?” Junkrat gives her puppydog eyes. “Won’t post it!”

God. She can’t say no to that, can she? Rushing to adjust her dress and straighten her back, Angela puts on a bright smile as Junkrat lifts his phone slightly.

“Beautiful! Reminds me though, is Mercy on Instagram?” Junkrat says, his eyes meeting hers from above his phone.

“She is indeed,” Angela says, feeling frail as she takes out her phone, too.

She should be over the moon that Junkrat wanted a photo of her—ecstatic when he asks for her username—but Angela can’t stop thinking about D.va, about the photos of them she used to see on Junkrat’s Instagram. The gaming streams Junkrat would retweet. The couple vlogs they did on YouTube. How could she have forgotten they dated when it was all over his social media?

Once they’ve added each other Angela stuffs her phone in her bag and cups her latte with both hands. Young, petite, brunette. Millions of subscribers. She knows she shouldn’t compare herself to someone she doesn’t know, but Angela is _nothing_ _like_ D.va.

Junkrat is thumbing at his phone, probably posting on Instagram. Angela closes her eyes and focuses on the scent of the coffee, a scent that was so comforting this morning. What’s she doing, letting something like this bother her? Junkrat may have dated D.va, but he’s on a date with _her_ right now, and it’s ridiculous to worry about an ex when he made it clear that the relationship was over. It isn’t like he was upset when Lúcio brought it up!

“Alright, so I’ve heard about Mercy,” Junkrat says, putting his phone away, “but I haven’t heard about _Angela_.”

“Oh. What would you like to know?” Angela says, daintily placing her cup on the saucer.

“Dunno.” Junkrat sets his elbows on the table and his chin in his palms. “Whaddya _want_ me to know?”

That’s an excellent way of putting it back on her. Angela exhales.

“Gosh, um. The basics, I suppose?” she says, because even though it’s boring she can’t pretend to be something she’s not. “I’m thirty, going to be thirty one this year. I moved here for university and stayed after graduating. You already know I’m Swiss.”

“Swiss German, yeah,” Junkrat says, gazing at her. He’s doing a very good job of assuring Angela that she has his undivided attention. “That’s all good, but I wanna know about _you._ Are angels allowed to tell humans what they get up to off duty?”

Angela’s smile comes a little more naturally, at this.

“Aside from going on dates with famous cricketers?”

“Uhhh, with _one_ famous cricketer I hope!” Junkrat says, like he’s affronted by her suggestion otherwise.

“Sorry, with one famous cricketer,” Angela says, her smile widening. It helps immensely to be flirted with again. “Let’s see, um. I’d have to say my hobbies are Netflix and eating chocolate. Oh, and spending too much money on clothes I never wear.”

Junkrat laughs, the reaction Angela was hoping for.

“But I also like doing badminton and yoga after work,” she adds, because she’s reasonably sure Junkrat wouldn’t have seen that tweet yesterday. “And I like cricket, although that probably goes without saying.”

“Say it as many times as y’want, I love hearin’ it!” Junkrat says, grinning. “Don’t mind a bit of yoga myself every now and again either!”

“Really?” Angela says, sceptically. It’s strange picturing someone like Junkrat doing yoga.

“Yeah, my coach recommended it what with me being a little, er, _stumped_ when it comes to swimming. S’been bloody great for relaxation techniques between matches, I’ll tell ya that much!”

“Oh, I can’t imagine how stressful it must be prior to a match. Nor how exciting!”

“Hah, yeah, there’s nothin’ quite like it.” Junkrat has started bouncing his left leg, a vibration she notices where her leg is close to his beneath the table. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve already heard enough about my cricket playing arse!”

“Not at all! I love hearing about it!” Angela says, as he goes to take a sip of coffee.

She only realises how provocative this sounds when Junkrat's eyes widen and his lips twitch into a smile.

"I—I mean—!"

"Bloody hell Ange!" Junkrat giggles. There's this alarming note of pleasure to it, almost like he's _pleased_ that Angela apparently wants to hear about his arse. "Haven't even finished my coffee yet!"

"I—I didn't mean to—" she hurries to explain, but Junkrat laughs again, shaking his head.

“Eesh, no need to look so scared! M'only kidding around with ya, I know what you meant!"

"I'm still sorry," Angela says, her embarrassed smile meeting his confident grin.

"I'm not," Junkrat says, in a slightly lowered voice that sends the most delightful rush of  _something_  through Angela's body. "Anyway, s’all well and good me banging on about cricket, but I wanna know what _you_ get up to when you’re not doing yoga or Netflix!”

Well, once again, she's managed to get away with yet another faux pas, because this is a roundabout way of asking what she does for a living. One of Angela's fears was that Junkrat wouldn’t let her get a word in edgeways on this date—that he wouldn’t stop bragging—but he’s barely said anything about himself. How can he be this interested in her life when it’s so ordinary?

“I wish I could tell you I have an exciting job, but sadly I’m just a general practitioner.”

“Shit,” Junkrat says, with widening eyes. He puts his coffee down. “You’re a doctor?”

“I… am, yes,” Angela says nervously. “Is that a problem?”

“No! Jesus no, not in the least! S’just sorta funny to me,” Junkrat says, scratching a hand through his hair. What a puzzling reaction, Angela thinks, her eyebrows drawing together.

“May I ask why?”

“Er, I’m guessing you _probably_ already know this, but I basically grew up around doctors and nurses. Constant check-ups and hospital trips!”

Angela partially knows, but it’s much different hearing it straight from him rather than some website or magazine article. Junkrat’s book was more comedic than autobiographical and mostly pertained to the last few years of his success. He did touch upon his childhood though, and it’s well-documented that his amputated leg was the result of a bacterial meningitis infection.

“Bloody _nightmare_ , it was!” Junkrat sighs.

“I can’t imagine,” Angela says, softly. “We’re encouraging students to get vaccinated for various strains of meningitis at the moment. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, especially when you were so young.”

“Eh, it happens,” Junkrat shrugs. “I was a poorly kid in general, that was just the worst of it.”

He brushes his foot against hers beneath the table.

“Not to sound ungrateful though, wouldn’t be here today without those guys! So yeah, there’s no ‘just’ being a doctor, Ange. I owe you lot big time. And it kinda makes perfect sense that I’ve been so drawn to ya.”

Oh. Wow, okay. Angela clears her throat.

“You’ve been—drawn, to me?” she asks, just to make sure she heard him correctly.

“Wouldn’t be sittin’ here with ya if I wasn’t,” Junkrat says, grinning. “Hope that isn’t a problem, doc!”

“It, no, of course it isn’t, but I—can’t actually _be_ your doctor,” Angela says, trying not to fixate on what he’s just said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because now that we know one another personally it would be unethical for me to treat you as a patient.”

“Right,” Junkrat says, grabbing his cup again. “Good thing I don’t wanna be your patient then, isn’t it?”

Angela gasps out a laugh. Junkrat casually sips at his coffee, maintaining eye contact while he does as though he’s challenging her to answer.

“Okay, if not my patient, what _do_ you want to be?” Angela asks, crossing her arms. Junkrat hmmms as he puts his coffee down.

“Now that’d just be tellin’, wouldn’t it?” he says, in this low, teasing voice that sends a delicious chill down Angela’s spine. It’s decidedly flirtier than the cheesy puns he’s been dropping all day, and while her mouth opens for some kind of witty retort to it, nothing comes. Is he… is he seriously implying what she thinks he’s implying, right now? Before this date has even finished??

Junkrat claps his hands and rubs them together, making Angela jump.

“So then, how’sabout some cake!”

She bursts out laughing from such a terrible digression.

“That doesn’t answer my question!”

“Hey, it ain’t gonna eat itself, is it?!”

“How smooth,” Angela says, smiling helplessly as Junkrat hands her a fork.

“Right, now which part d’ya like more? Icing or sponge?”

“Is this… some kind of test?”

“Maaaybe.” Junkrat uses his fork to part the cake into two sections—half with more icing and half with more sponge. “Which one’ll it be, little lady?”

Oh, using that name again is just unfair. Angela chews her lip.  

“I… prefer the sponge,” she says, hesitantly, having never been asked about her cake-eating preferences as a first date icebreaker. Junkrat’s eyebrows lift right up. “Please, don’t tell me I said the wrong thing!”

“Noooo no no, QUITE the opposite! ‘Cause I’m definitely an icing guy!”

“So I _did_ choose wrong!” Angela says, hanging her head.

“You did not! This means we complement each other! And more importantly, that _I_ get to have more icing,” Junkrat says, with an exaggerated wink that has Angela giggling into her palm. How has he managed to turn something as silly as this into another way of flirting with her?!

Angela cuts off small pieces while Junkrat squishes as much sponge onto each forkful of icing as he can. Between bites he asks about her job—what her hours are like, how she finds it—and Angela is happy to answer him, because it’s flattering that he’s showing this much interest in her boring day-to-day life. It feels like he’s really trying to get to know her—like maybe, _just_ maybe, Junkrat might have a genuine interest beyond his angel puns and flattery. Angela doesn’t want to get too carried away with thoughts like that if he’s only being friendly, though. _Don’t overthink it, just have fun!_

When she’s finished Angela dabs the corners of her mouth with the napkin. She’s eaten carefully, barely a crumb left on her side of the plate while Junkrat’s is a mess of smeared icing. Watching him lick his lips sends an uncomfortably hot rush through her, but Junkrat’s eyes narrow as they flick over Angela’s face.

“Did—did I miss a spot?” she asks, fearfully.

“Yeah, bit of icing on your lip.”

Angela blots it with the napkin. Junkrat tilts his head.

“Better?”

“Eeehh, still there. Want me to show ya?”

Oh god.

“Y—Yes please.”

Angela isn’t sure if she should be thankful or humiliated when Junkrat leans across the table. She stiffens as he reaches out to her, and then he brushes the pad of his thumb over the corner of her lower lip.

Oh no, Angela thinks, as her stomach folds over itself. That’s not good.

“There y’go!”

He pulls back to show her the tiniest smudge of chocolate icing on his thumb.

“How can a lady who eats like a princess be such a mucky pup,” Junkrat says, once he’s licked it clean. “More icing for me though!”

“I’m—glad you got a sufficient dose of it,” Angela says, the only response that comes to mind seeing as Junkrat’s indirect kiss has completely blown it. That was—there’s no way that wasn’t a pass at her. No way! Nobody does that if they’re just being friendly!

Angela is grateful for the crutch of her coffee and sips it while Junkrat downs the rest of his. She cannot believe that that just happened, that after all his light-hearted puns Junkrat is being so forward. Angela has tried hard to take this date at face value—a bit of fun, nothing serious—but everything he’s saying and doing is… well, it _really_ isn’t helping her crush. It’s bad enough that he’s a handsome celebrity, so how is it fair that he’s turning out to be such a sweetheart of a person as well?

“That was bloody lush!” Junkrat says. With the cake and coffee gone he rubs his thighs like he’s ready to make a move. Terror smacks Angela squarely in the stomach because now that they’re finished this could well be it, the end of their date if Junkrat so chooses. But surely after doing _that_ to her, after all their conversation and rapport, surely he isn’t going to just—

“Fancy going for a walkabout?” Junkrat asks brightly. “Seems a shame to be cooped up in here when it’s that sunny out!”

“Yes, I agree!” Angela says, about to jump out of her chair and hug him in thanks for rescuing them. She restrains herself by lifting her bag to indicate that she’s ready to leave. “There’s—there’s actually a park just around the corner, if you wanted to go there?”

“Sure, sounds great!”

Junkrat slides his sunglasses back on. Angela brushes out her dress. After thanking Lúcio on their way out of the shop they’re outside again in the mid-afternoon sunshine, Angela leading them towards the park and wondering how the hell it’s been this easy to secure an extension to their date. There isn’t much to do in the park outside of watch the ducks on the lake and walk around. Angela is feeling positive though, because Junkrat has been so fun to talk to that she’s hoping their conversation will—

Warmth brushes against her hand. Angela prickles. She daren’t look down in case she’s just imagining it. Then her insides coil, and she doesn’t need to look anyway, because Junkrat is lacing their fingers together, taking her hand and holding it while they walk.

“Alright?” he asks her, smiling when she blinks up at him. Angela doesn’t know if he’s asking about her general wellbeing or if it it’s okay that he’s taken her hand, not that it matters either way.

“Never better!” she says, a squeak that’s meant quite literally and makes Junkrat laugh.

They step through the gates and into the park. It’s busier here than in town, with people sitting on benches reading and spread out on the grass. Couples are dotted along the path ahead of them. Holding hands, like they are.

Angela’s eyes flick down to it, to the same hand Junkrat bowls with, that holds cricket bats when he’s playing for thousands and thousands of people. She wouldn’t believe it if she wasn’t seeing it with her own eyes. His strong, smooth, cricket-playing hand holding hers.

Fuck.

“Aw, I shoulda brought a frisbee or somethin’,” Junkrat says, gesturing at the kids over by a willow tree throwing one around. Angela isn’t sure if what she wants to say is entirely appropriate, but perhaps she _should_ be a little bolder, as he seems to be giving her so many free passes today.

“Wouldn’t you rather bring a boomerang?” she asks, innocently.

“Oh, haa bloody haa!” Junkrat says. Just as Angela worries she might’ve offended him he squeezes her hand, a movement that seems to squeeze her chest at the same time. She’s amazed he’s still holding it when it’s so clammy.

“I er, actually _do_ own a boomerang, as a matter of fact.”

“Is it not a rite of passage as an Australian to own one?”

“You are a cheeky bloody so-n-so, aren’tcha,” Junkrat says, with this big smile like he’s delighted that she is. Angela should be bricking it from teasing him like this, but how can she when he’s clearly enjoying it?

“I’m only curious, as you’ve hardly told me anything about yourself.”

“Hey, I’m sure you know more about me than I do you,” Junkrat says, squinting at her.

“That’s a fair point,” Angela says, daringly casual, “but I’d still like to know more. From the horse’s mouth, as it were. Or rat’s, in this case."

“Alright, well, whaddya wanna know?”

That was… surprisingly simple. Angela was anticipating more of a fight for Junkrat to open up to her. ‘Everything’ probably isn’t an appropriate answer, so she hums, thinking of what’s acceptable to ask as they continue along the path.

“What’s a usual day like for you? I can’t imagine it being a nine-to-five thing like mine.”

“A usual day?” Junkrat rubs his chin with his free hand. “Wouldn’t say there’s ever a usual day ‘cause they’re always so different. Depends what I’ve got going on.”

“You must be able to give me an example,” Angela says, giving his hand an encouraging shake.

“Okay okay, lemme think.” Junkrat takes a moment to mull it over, glancing up to the clear sky above them. “Sooo… on an average weekday when I’m not in the middle of a tournament, I get up reeeasonably early to train in the nets for a few hours.”

“In the nets?”

“Yeah, y’know, practising swings and form n’all that.”

“Ah, right. Do you only practise batting?”

“Nah, gotta do catching and bowling as well, but batting’s always been my favourite so I spend the most amounta time on that.”

“It’s certainly what you’re known for, though you are an excellent bowler too,” Angela says, with a shy smile up at him

“You tryina make me blush or something?” Junkrat asks, smirking back at her.

“I’m only telling the truth.”

“Heh! Why thank you! But yeah, y’gotta be a half decent all-rounder these days to get anywhere really.”

“Only half decent? That’s very modest of you,” Angela says, wryly. Junkrat snickers.

“I mean, the _others_ hafta be half decent if they want a fightin’ chance against me, ‘cause we both know I’m the best!” he says, pompously. “But yeah, nah, if not in the nets I’m in the gym doing speed drills, weights and what have ya.”

Angela looks away from him, to the lake running alongside them. One thing she knows about Junkrat’s downtime from cricket is that he appears to spend a lot of it without a shirt on judging by the many, many photos on his Instagram where he’s topless and showing off his absurdly toned abs. Angela blows out a slow breath from the imagery of Junkrat training in the gym. As if her hand couldn’t get any clammier.

“So yeah, thassit really. Lots of sweating, always followed by a big lunch! Much better to train early so I can spend the rest of the day doing whatever I want.”

“The life of a cricketer,” Angela sighs, watching a nearby duck bob under the water.

“Hey, it ain’t _always_ like that,” Junkrat says, with a frown that loosens the moment Angela smiles at him. “Definitely has its perks though. Going profesh.”

“Such as?”

“The downtime’s pretty great, sorta makes up for how stressful it gets on tour. Always feels good sloggin’ a six and having the crowd go nuts, y’know, little things like that. And it feels _really_ good being paid to do something I love.”

Angela glances to her feet. She isn’t sure she can relate to that, but she isn’t about to bring the conversation down by saying so.

“’Course, meetin’ new people doesn’t hurt either,” Junkrat says, jigging her hand to draw her attention back to him. “Still can’t believe a woman like you’s genuinely interested in cricket.”

“A woman like me?” Angela says, balking.

“Sorry, an _angel_ like you,” Junkrat says, playfully bumping his arm against hers. “Thought for sure you were queuing up for your bloke!”

It takes Angela a moment to understand what he’s saying. A wonderful yet dreadful feeling stirs inside her when she does, because she has a very good idea of where Junkrat might be going with this.

“I—no, that certainly wasn’t the case. What I told you yesterday was true. My grandfather was a huge fan of cricket and I spent a lot of time with him growing up, so I’ve always been exposed to it.”

It’s frustrating that Junkrat’s still wearing his sunglasses—that all she can see is her reflection in them, rather than his eyes—but his smile and the way his eyebrows lift up above them indicate pleasant surprise.

“And y’like it? Truly?” he says, with a cute note of hope that has Angela bumping his arm back.

“I do, yes.” She decides against mentioning that her favourite part about cricket is him. “And I wasn’t in line to get a signature for anyone other than myself.”

“Soooo what you’re _saying_ is… you’re single, yeah?” Junkrat asks, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“I—I thought that much was obvious!” Angela says, with a disbelieving laugh. She thought he was at least trying to be subtle!

“Hey, s’nothin’ wrong with a guy just wanting to be sure!”

Angela gawks at him, at the big shit-eating grin on his face that says that he’s either pleased with himself for flustering her, or he’s pleased with her answer. Possibly, alarmingly, both.

This is going too well. Dangerously well, Angela thinks, staring blindly ahead as they walk on. Why would he ask her that? It may be a normal question to ask on a date, but why is he—why would he want to be sure, if he wasn’t… if he didn’t…

Junkrat is still grinning to himself when she chances a look at him. He’s still holding her hand, too, despite her palm being horribly moist with sweat, and that feeling of wonderful-dread curdles into pure terror when it suddenly dawns on her.

For all of his puns and playfulness… is Junkrat taking this date _seriously?_

It’s so terrifying that Angela has to distract herself with the lake again, focusing on a bunch of geese ruffling their feathers. Regardless of how great it’s going she’s still too scared to go wildly assuming something ridiculous like Junkrat actually reciprocating her silly crush. But there’s also this tiny, helpless part of her that’s beginning to hope he might, because it’s becoming increasingly difficult to control her expectations when he keeps surpassing them like this.

Just—why, _why_ does he have to be so sweet? If Junkrat was an asshole or bored by her she wouldn’t have to worry about her sweaty hand or—or being asked if she’s single!

Okay, focus. Keep going as you are, Angela thinks, pleads with herself. It seems to be doing the trick, if the trick is somehow stealing the heart of a famous cricketer by being her boring, ordinary self!

They come to a fork in the path, one way leading around the rest of the park and the other leading to a small bridge over the lake. Junkrat opts for the bridge, where a couple are standing on one side of it taking a selfie against the railing. Angela wasn’t going to ask for any pictures because she worried it might be distasteful, but considering how receptive Junkrat has been to just about everything else he probably won’t mind. It would be nice to have some photographic evidence that today actually happened, seeing as it’s turning out to be an extended dream more than a date.

Junkrat nudges her as she takes a breath to ask.

“Wanna take a pic together?” he says, nodding towards the couple.

“Yes, I’d—I’d love to!” Angela says, letting go of Junkrat’s hand to fish out her phone. How is he being this forthcoming? How did he know??

“Here’yare, lemme do it,” Junkrat says, gesturing for her phone. “Got longer arms!”

“Oh, thank you!”

They huddle together as Junkrat holds Angela’s phone out in front of them. His arm loops around her waist to hold her against him, and then he’s leaning in close, closer, until the side of his face is squished on hers. She can smell the gorgeous scent of his cologne, can feel the warm skin of his cheek, the solid press of his body along her side. Totally and completely overwhelming. How and why is he indulging her like this??

Junkrat angles the phone to get both of them in the shot. His grin is dazzling, well-practised, but he struggles to push the button with his thumb and laughs as he fumbles over it. Angela reaches out with her free hand to press it for them, capturing their smiling faces. Just as he’s letting go of her and pulling away, Junkrat startles her by pointing urgently in the opposite direction.

“Shit, what’s that?!”

“What??”

Angela whips around to see whatever Junkrat’s pointing at, only to freeze and gasp at the feel of a soft peck on her cheek.

What.

She turns to stare at him but Junkrat’s already walking off, whistling with his arms crossed behind his head.

“Did. Did you just.”

“Hoo boy, what a bea- _utiful_ day it is!”

“Junkrat, did you just—!”

“This weather suuuure is great!”

Angela doesn’t have the breath to laugh. She’s rooted to the ground, touching the spot on her cheek that he kissed.

That. He. _Kissed._

It makes perfect sense that Junkrat would use the most childish trick in the book to steal a kiss from her. It also makes sense that it would work, because being kissed was about the last thing Angela expected from this date, now or later or indeed _ever_. How can a professional cricketer act like a boy at school who’s teasing her in the playground?

And how can Angela, at thirty years of age, still be made to feel like a girl at school with the most terrible, terrible crush?

“You coming? Might lose my way withoutcha!”

Junkrat reaches out as an invitation to hold his hand again. It’s enough to bring Angela out of her stupor and she rushes over to join him, taking it before he can rescind it.

“Sorry,” Angela says, because she doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t know what to do with herself either, what to think about any of this.

“What?” Junkrat laughs, frowning like he’s appalled that she’s apologising for being kissed. “Ya silly thing, c’mere!”

He pulls her into another full-on hug, one which Angela sinks into immediately, greedily, hiding her face in his chest and slinging her arms around his back. Junkrat squeezes her, his breath coming warm on her head.

“Hope that was alright,” he says, with a softness that has Angela shivering.

“Of—of course it was.”

When she reluctantly peels herself off him Junkrat grins at her, as though none of this is a big deal. He pulls her hand as a prompt to continue walking with him, and then they’ve somehow made it over the bridge despite Angela’s legs having gone boneless along the way.

The trees are tall and dense here, shadowing the path. Junkrat chats blithely and Angela is grateful for the reprieve of it, responding mostly on autopilot and wondering when she’s going to wake up from this. As they walk, though, she notices that there’s something ever so slightly off about Junkrat’s gait. Not nearly enough to be a limp, just a little dip in his stride. Then she remembers his prosthetic, his missing right foot and calf, and somehow it’s a reinforcement of who Junkrat is. How for all of his celebrity, he’s still just human, like she is.

Junkrat is talking now, laughing about something, and warmth blooms in Angela’s chest as she watches him, a familiar stirring she’s felt many times before. She was scared of this date going badly, on being unable to sustain Junkrat’s interest, but she was even more afraid of it going well. It’s going better she ever could’ve hoped and the thing she was most afraid of is precisely what seems to be happening. If she was with anyone else she’d be feeling bold with confidence right now, but…

Wait. This IS like any other date. It has been since the start, hasn't it? Nothing Angela has said or done has been off-limits. Junkrat has made himself fully available, has initiated every move, every sign that's pointed to her attraction being mutual. He hasn’t even been subtle about it.

If he really is taking this seriously, perhaps it’s time for Angela to do the same. Could she suggest dinner, perhaps? If she insists on paying Junkrat won’t think she’s asking just to get a meal out of him. All she needs is the right moment.

Angela guides them in a circle, back to the bridge. The late-afternoon sun is hot and she feels uncomfortable in her jacket now that they’re out of the shade, but she’s too focused on steering them towards dinner to worry about how sweaty she is. Junkrat hasn’t stopped holding her hand the entire time they’ve been walking anyway.

“Alright,” he says, “so I haven’t wanted to bombard ya with cricket but now I’ve just gotta ask, ‘cause I’ve been DYING to know all day.”

Oh god. Please say he isn’t about to test her cricket knowledge.

“Yes?” Angela says, cautiously. Junkrat smirks at her.

“Who’dya support?”

“You—you mean which team?”

“Yeah. I wanna know who!”

The answer is literally staring her in the face. Junkrat probably knows it, too, and she doesn’t doubt that it’s what he wants to hear.

… Surely it would be too easy if she just gave it to him, though. In fact, it’s rather tempting to tease Junkrat, payback for all the times he’s flustered her today. If the girls were here they’d be screaming at her right now, beside themselves with excitement and probably yelling at her to go for it. Angela has a reasonably good idea of what his reaction will be. What’s she got to lose?

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Angela says, thoughtfully. “Are you referring to the county championship? T20? The Ashes? There are lots of different tournaments, after all.”

“Oooooh, alright then! Let’s go with the Ashes!”

Angela hums, enjoying the way Junkrat watches her while he waits for her answer.

“I’d have to say that I support England.”

“England?!”

The lowering sun is reflected in Junkrat’s sunglasses as he briefly lifts them to balk at her. Angela lets go of his hand.

“Naturally,” she says, walking ahead where Junkrat is stood still. She grins at him from over her shoulder. “As a true cricket fan, I only support the best.”

It’s low-hanging fruit, and Junkrat takes it immediately, lunging forward and snatching her hand back.

“A true cricket fan?! And you support THEM?!”

“Australia certainly aren’t bad,” Angela muses, turning like she’s going to walk away from him again. With a slight flick of his wrist Junkrat yanks her back.

“Ah!”

“Aren’t bad?! I can’t believe I’m hearing this!” he says indignantly, though he’s grinning, must know he’s being teased. “You’ve got some nerve, Miss Angela!”

“I’m only being honest.” Angela lets go of his hand and steps back to bait him. Junkrat sets his jaw.

“Tch! And after how _nice_ I’ve been to you today. Bloody well askin’ for it, you are,” he says, an unexpectedly dark threat that has the hairs on the back of Angela’s neck standing up.

“Really? What am I asking for?” she says, coyly, as Junkrat takes these slow, measured steps towards her. Angela doesn’t move, not even when he comes so close that the skirt of her dress crumples against his thighs.

“For _this_.”

Junkrat starts tickling her. Angela bursts out laughing, thrashing and turning her back on him to try and hide from it even though she relishes the feel of his fingers on her shoulders, her arms, her sides. All at once she’s that schoolgirl again, play fighting in the back of the classroom with her biggest crush, because this is precisely the reaction she was hoping for, and Junkrat is indulging her just as she suspected he would.

“England! Fuckin’ _England!”_

“Stop, Junk—Junkrat, _stop!_ ” she pleads, to no avail.

“Who’s your favourite cricketer? Huh? Tell me!”

“Suh—Steven Wide!” Angela gasps, the first English cricketer that springs to mind. Junkrat pauses, giving her a chance to catch her breath, before grabbing her once again. Angela squeals in anticipation of more tickling but his hands are unmoving on her hips.

“That Wide bloke’s your favourite, is he?” Junkrat says, lowering his voice. Angela prickles up.

“Y…Yes, he is.”

Junkrat repositions his hands so that they’re fanned on the flat of her stomach and chest. He can probably feel her heartbeat, hammering like it is, and Angela writhes against him, an excuse for more contact disguised as resistance.

“Then why’d you come see me yesterday?” Junkrat asks, dragging her backwards into him, arms encircling her in a tight grip that has Angela shuddering. It's deliciously possessive, such an effortless display of his strength. 

“Can’t you guess?”

“Nah, us cricketers are bloody clueless y’know,” Junkrat says, his jaw in the crook of Angela’s neck. She rests her arms on top of his, and as Junkrat gently rocks them from side to side heat pools in Angela’s belly from being held like this, the width of his back curved around her shoulders, the belt buckle on his jeans pressed against the small of her back.

“Think you need to tell me,” Junkrat says, hushed and close to her ear. “Just so I know.”

He isn't playing anymore. For a second Angela’s eyes close, because she needs to breathe, needs to absorb how this feels into every part of her body so that she’ll never forget this moment.

“I came to see you because I’ve always wanted to meet you,” she says, so quietly, tilting her face closer to his. “And I only support teams that have you on them.”

“Yeah? So who’s _really_ your favourite?” Junkrat says, a hiss that drains Angela’s willpower to resist.

“You are,” she says, almost whispering. “You always have been.”

“Mmmm,” Junkrat purrs, this pleased rumble of a sound that has Angela’s legs threatening to give out from under her. He’s holding her so tightly that it wouldn’t matter even if they did. “That’s more like it. Aren’t I a lucky guy?”

“Lucky.” Angela squirms, another fake attempt to free herself, but Junkrat holds her tighter, a squeeze that has her gasping. “I don’t—don’t know how you can say that.”

“Well, I’ve got the most gorgeous woman in my arms, telling me I’m her favourite.” Angela thinks she might faint when Junkrat’s nose brushes the hair behind her ear. “So yeah, I’d say that makes me _very_ lucky.”

“Junkrat,” Angela says, this weak, useless breath. She doesn’t know where this is going but she only wants it to end if it means he’s going to take it further. He’s spent the entire day flirting with her, but this, this is something else. This is more than that.

Junkrat straightens up, his arms unravelling just enough for Angela to turn in them until she’s facing him, gazing up at him. She’s breathing fast, hands flat on his chest, body flush on his. Angela feels so small tucked into him like this, into tall, handsome, famous Junkrat, and if this really is a dream she hopes, desperately, that she’ll never have to wake up from it.

“Shit, y’got no right lookin’ at me with those eyes,” Junkrat says, laughing and looking away from her. He doesn’t make any move to let go.

“I can’t even see yours because of those sunglasses,” Angela says, pawing at his chest to regain his attention. Junkrat plucks them off, and when the low sunlight catches his irises suddenly they aren’t the same soft brown they were yesterday or even earlier on today, but brighter, almost amber. Smouldering, on hers.

Angela’s chest tightens. Gazing at him like this, she doesn’t want to believe that this could really go somewhere. She wants to _know_ it will.

“Startin’ to wonder if you ain’t an angel after all,” Junkrat says, rocking them from side to side again. “’Cause lookin’ atcha’s makin’ me wanna do things I probably shouldn’t do on a first date.”

Angela swallows around the knot that’s lifted into her throat.

“Like what?” she says, wanting to tell him that he can do whatever he wants _._ Junkrat bites his lip at her like he’s thinking about his answer.

Something vibrates by Angela’s hip. It’s not her phone, so it must be Junkrat’s, where it’s in his jean pocket. It sounds like an alarm going off.

“Hang on,” Junkrat says, releasing her and fishing it out of his pocket. “Goddamn it.”

He taps the screen to stop the noise and then he’s closing his eyes, grinding his temples.

“Is—is something wrong?” Angela asks, worriedly. Junkrat heaves out a sigh. 

“It’s—I set an alarm for somethin’ I needed to get home for,” he says. It’s frustratingly, unconvincingly vague.

Oh, no. Please, please no.

“You’re… you need to leave?” Angela asks, gently, hands clasped together by her chest. An unconscious plea for him to say no, he doesn’t, of _course_ he isn’t going to leave after holding her like that.

“Yeah,” Junkrat says. He looks away from her, puffing his cheeks and scratching the back of his head. “S’my stepmum’s birthday. Fiftieth. Said I’d take her and the guys out for dinner.”

“Ah. Right.” Angela’s hands fall by her sides. It sounds legitimate enough. “That’s—that’s very kind of you.”

“Was gonna tell ya before but it completely slipped my mind.” Junkrat drags a hand over his jaw, and then his eyebrows knot, face pinches in anger. “God _fucking_ damn it!”

He kicks the path, scuffing stones and making Angela flinch. She hopes these aren’t just theatrics to make her feel better, because she has no reason to doubt him, not really. Junkrat has been sweet to her all day, given no indication that he’d want an easy out from this date. It sounds like a—like a real thing, rather than an excuse. She wants so badly to believe it isn’t just an excuse.

“I am so fucking sorry,” Junkrat says, grabbing Angela’s shoulders. “I know it sounds like grade-A bullshit but it’s not, I _always_ forget this sorta shit, s’why I set an alarm!”

His eyes search hers. Angela can’t tell if he’s just willing her to believe him or if he genuinely feels remorse about this. She smiles, shakes her head.

“It—it’s fine, I understand,” she says, looking down at her feet. Angela needs to be polite about this, show elegance despite the crushing disappointment. Junkrat rubs her shoulders, bringing her eyes back up to his.

“Guess I got carried away havin’ too much fun with ya,” he says, grinning.

Angela manages a weak laugh. Nothing about Junkrat is telling her he genuinely wants to leave, so why isn’t she reassured by this?

“But I’ve—I’ve gotta go, Ange. M'sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she says, because there’s literally nothing else she can say. Junkrat is chewing his lip like he’s reconsidering, and Angela wishes he wouldn’t, doesn’t want to be given false hope.

“You alright if I take you home now?”

“Oh, no, I’ll call a taxi. I don’t want you to go further out of your way if you need to—”

“NO! Nohohoooo way, not having you leave in a taxi!” Junkrat huffs. “I’ll drop you off at the door, s’the least I can do for cuttin’ it short like this!”

“Alright, if—if you’re sure. Thank you.”

Junkrat laces their fingers together again, but the moment has passed, adrenaline evaporated, and Angela can’t get excited about holding his hand anymore.  For the first time today she feels awkward and uncomfortable with him, not really knowing what to say as they head out of the park.

She knows she has absolutely no right to feel this crestfallen when Junkrat has given her so much. It’s a perfectly legitimate reason to leave, and she wants more than anything to believe that it’s real, so why can’t she?  Why does it seem like one big excuse for Junkrat to go before committing anymore of his time to her?

They walk through town. Junkrat is busy on his phone, thumbing it. Maybe he’s texting his stepmum. Maybe he’s texting someone else, some other woman who caught his eye yesterday. It’s a ridiculous thought to have but Angela has it nonetheless, and when Junkrat puts his phone away she busies herself on hers. He takes a breath to say something, once, twice. Nothing comes. Angela doesn’t know what to say either, so she opens her chat window with the girls and thumbs out a slow one-handed message, seeing as Junkrat hasn’t let go of her hand.

 _ **Mercy** _  
_I am coming home_

_**T-Racer @ DOWNLOAD**_  
_JSJSDHDJHSDK_  
_ALREADY???_

 _ **Mercy**_  
_He says he has to go_  
_Family birthday_

 _ **T-Racer @ DOWNLOAD**_  
_Uh what the fuxk_  
_What the FUCK_  
_BOLLOCKS_

_**Mercy** _  
_We are heading back to the car now_  
_Are you with Olivia_

_**T-Racer @ DOWNLOAD** _  
_FUCK_  
_YES_  
_ANGE WTF THAT’S A PISS POOR EXCUSE_  
_DETAILS??????_

_**Mercy**_  
_I will call you when I’m home_

“Everything alright?”

“Yes, sorry.” Angela doesn’t know why she’s apologising. “I hope you won’t be too late.”

“Nah, not worried about that,” Junkrat says, shaking her hand in emphasis. “Wish I didn’t hafta go.”

“It’s fine, really,” Angela says, smiling at him.

They reach the car. Angela avoids looking at the cricket gear when she clicks in her seatbelt, and then they’re on the road. Junkrat is frowning with his elbow braced on the window, rubbing his thumb over his lip. Concentrating, thinking. About their date? About who he’s seeing next? Angela doesn’t know. He’s kind enough to fill the silence by turning the radio up, anyway. It would seem he doesn’t feel like talking either, though Angela has so much she’d like to say.

She wants to thank him, gush over him, tell him how happy he’s made her through asking her on this date _._ How he went so far beyond her expectations. Angela just wishes Junkrat hadn’t made her feel like he wanted to give her even more, wishes he hadn’t asked her leading questions, pecked her on the cheek, held her in his arms like—like he could’ve been her boyfriend. Thank goodness she didn’t ask him about dinner after all. God, she feels like such an idiot.

There’s an orange air freshener hanging from the mirror. It must’ve lost its scent a while ago because the car smells of wood and earth more than anything, the pitches Junkrat plays on and his muddied equipment. An intense sadness washes over Angela because she can’t help thinking she might never see it again, never experience anything quite like this.

But at least she’s experienced it at all. She shouldn’t be so ungrateful and entitled when she’s had such a wonderful day and Junkrat has been gracious enough to give her this much of his time. And, if he really _isn’t_ lying, there’s a chance he could arrange to see her again. Angela just doesn’t want to pin her hopes on it. At least she knows better than to do that, now.

_Don’t overthink it. You had fun._

_**T-Racer @ DOWNLOAD** _  
_PLEEEEEEEEASE GIVE US THE DETAILS_  
_WE ARE DYING HERE_  
_ANGELAAAAAFHFHGHGHGHGH_

**_Mercy_ **  
_He’s parking up now_  
_We’re home_

_**T-Racer @ DOWNLOAD** _  
_OMFG_

 _ **Mercy** _  
_Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll call you_

 

“Wait a sec,” Junkrat says, when Angela goes to open the car door. He’s got both arms across the steering wheel, scowling down at his lap.

“Yes?” Angela asks, softly. Junkrat blows out a breath. He shakes his head, apparently changing his mind and mercifully breaking apart the tidal wave of hope before it has a chance to crash.

“Lemme see ya to the door.”

Junkrat follows behind her with both hands in his back pockets, looking like a child about to be reprimanded more than the man who’s taken her out today. Angela would like to think it’s bothering him as much as it’s bothering her, that it’s had to end like this, so abruptly when they were on the cusp of… well. Nothing, it seems.

“Hey, Ange,” Junkrat says, resting his hand on the door frame. Angela was rummaging in her bag for her keys, but she stops, straightens up. Junkrat is standing very close to her, enough for her skirt to crumple on his thighs, again. She wishes it wasn’t enough to lift her heart into her throat, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Junkrat, I’ve had a wonderful time with you,” she says, sincerely. His eyebrows are drawn into a pronounced frown, and he’s not wearing his sunglasses anymore, eyes brown again now that they’re not in the sun. Angela feels the need to touch him in reassurance, let him know that it’s okay, so she does, lacing her hand on his chest. “I can’t thank you enough for taking me out today. It’s been absolutely amazing.”

Junkrat purses his lips. He takes a breath, blows it out. Shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m gonna text you, alright?” he says, firmly. “‘Cause we’re gonna do this again. When I’ve got more time and I don’t have to set a fucking alarm that’s gonna ruin it.”

“It isn’t ruined, I’ve still had an amazing day with you. I’ll certainly never forget it.”

Junkrat strokes a lock of hair behind her ear, and Angela inhales through her nose, because fuck, she can’t believe he’s really doing this, acting like she could ever be someone more than a stranger he met at a book signing.

“If you’re up for it, I’ll take _you_ out for dinner instead sometime. Sometime soon. As soon as!” Junkrat says, resolutely.

“I would love that,” Angela says, meaning it.

“Then we will. I will. Take you out, I mean. And I’ll call you, definitely, hundred percent!”

He’ll call her? That’s new. Angela’s smile brightens.

“Alright.”

“This isn’t some fuck-off, Ange, I bloody _swear_.”

“I know it isn’t,” Angela says, telling herself more than she’s telling him. “Thank you.”

She gazes up at him, trying to pour everything into a look that says _kiss me, please kiss me, because if you do it will be more reassuring than anything you’ve just said._

Junkrat hesitates. It’s almost like he can hear her, because he leans in, and Angela closes her eyes, ready, so ready to be kissed.

“Promise,” Junkrat says, pecking her cheek instead. He straightens up, steps backwards. Grins at her, back to the confident, self-assured man he has been for the rest of the day.

“See ya later, Miss Angela.”

“Goodbye,” Angela says, with this fragile wave as he walks back to the car. She watches him get in and start it, and she watches him reverse out, drive off.

And that’s it.

Desperate to get inside and just collapse onto a chair, Angela’s hands shake as she pulls her house keys out of her bag. She drops them when she goes to unlock.

“Fuck,” she says, and as she bends to reach them her phone starts vibrating.

Wait, could that—he said he’d call her, could that already be him??

“Hello??”

“Ange! Oh my god, are you okay?”

Lena. Angela smiles, laughs. Junkrat said he would call her, but now that she’s thinking about it, they never exchanged numbers.

“Ange??”

When she goes to respond something is wedged in her throat stopping her. Angela lets out a hiccup of a sob instead.

“Oh no, no, don’t cry, we’re on our way!” Lena says, and Angela can hear Olivia swearing in the background.

“I’m fine, really, it was—it was great,” Angela says thickly, because she is NOT going to cry over this when she’s had an objectively brilliant day. After fumbling with the keys she finally gets the door unlocked, only to frown at the semi-distant sound of

screeching… tires?

Angela stops dead. She turns, peering out at the driveway like a hare standing to attention in the field.

A car is driving down the road.

“Ange? Ange! Angela!” Lena says, but her voice is quiet and distant. Angela is holding her phone away from her body. She yelps and jumps backwards as a Range Rover breaks at a sharp angle in her driveway.

Junkrat gets out and slams the door shut.

“Forgot something!” he shouts. He looks determined, angry, marching towards her with purpose, quick strides cutting the distance between them.

“Wha—” Angela starts, but she can’t finish because Junkrat is already in front of her, scooping her forwards and into his arms.

“Yeah,” he says, a breath that steals Angela’s away, and then she’s dropping her phone because Junkrat is kissing her, hard, a crushing, decisive press of his mouth on hers. Angela’s legs buckle, arms flying around his back to cling onto him, and Junkrat surges to pin her against the door with his body, giving this frustrated groan that has Angela gasping. He takes it as permission to tilt his head and kiss her harder, deeper, tongue sliding past her lips like he’s trying to swallow every drop of doubt that he was lying, that he wanted to leave her. Clawing at Junkrat’s shoulderblades for purchase Angela barely has a chance to kiss him back before he’s pulling away, lips leaving hers with a slick sound.

“Shoulda done that hours ago,” Junkrat says. His gaze is lowered, hungry, flitting from her lips to her eyes and making Angela’s stomach backflip into oblivion. “Absolute fucking _moron._ ”

“You—no you’re not,” Angela says, and she’s no less prepared for it when Junkrat kisses her again, hard enough to press the back of her head to the door, for her to feel the stubble on his jaw. Angela whimpers against his mouth this time, because god, oh _god_ this is everything she could’ve wanted, everything she could’ve hoped for after he said goodbye and drove away.

“Gorgeous fucking thing you are,” Junkrat says breathlessly, resting his forehead on hers. Angela just laughs, dazed from the kisses, reeling from what they mean.

Junkrat shifts like he’s going to step back and away from her and Angela moves before she can stop herself, tugging the front of his shirt for another. When he immediately obliges her Angela kisses back as hard as she can, fingers gripped in fabric, clinging for dear life. Everything he said today, everything he did, it was all real, it was all _real!_

“Now I _really_ gotta go,” Junkrat says, laughing as they part. Then he scowls at her. “But you best believe I’m coming back for you, little lady, so don’t you _dare_ start thinkin’ this is just some one time deal! Alright!”

“Yuh—yes, that’s.” Angela nods enthusiastically, the only real way to articulate what she’s feeling. “Th—Thank you!”

Junkrat gives her one last kiss, something chaste and brief, before jogging back to the car. Angela’s screen is cracked when she picks her phone up off the floor, and she clutches it to her chest as she watches Junkrat drive away. Hearing a faint yet urgent sounding voice, she lifts her phone to her ear.

“—S’THAT JUNKRAT? ANGELA FUCKING ZIEGLER IF YOU DON’T—”

“Junkrat just kissed me.”

 She is met with silence on the other end of the line. Realising what she’s just said, Angela repeats it, louder.

“He. He came back and kissed me. Junkrat came back and kissed me!”

“WHAT?!”

“He wants to see me again! Lena, he KISSED ME!!”

Lena screams so loud Angela has to hold the phone away from her again. Olivia joins in, and Angela is laughing, shaking, jumping up and down—

And then she starts screaming, too.

 

 

 *


End file.
